GIFT  OF 
f 


H 


IMPULSES 


OTHER  BOOKS  BY  MRS.  HASLETT 

"DOLORES  OF  THE  SIERRA,  AND  OTHER  ONE- 
ACT  PLAYS."  "THE  TEMPTATION  OF  ANN 
O'BRIEN."  (WEST  WINDS.)  AND  OTHERS. 


Impulses 

STORIES  TOUCHING  THE  LIFE  OF  SANDY, 
IN  THE  CITY  OF  SAINT  FRANCIS. 


BY 
HARRIET    HOLMES    HASLETT 


THE     CORNHILL    COMPANY 

BOSTON 


Copyright,  1920,  by 
CORNHILL  COMPANY 

/All  "Rights  Reserved 


TO  THE  ORIGINAL  SANDY 


"Life,  with  Sandy,  was  a  series  of  impulses. 
'Keep  your  heart  and  mind  working  clean,' 
was  his  theory,  'and  your  impulses  will  be 
all  right.'  And  with  him  they  usually 


CONTENTS 

Page 

THE  CASE  OF  SANDY                                 ^  1 

THE  HOBO  DINNER 28 

His  FIRST  ABDUCTION       .                 .        .  61 

THE  HUMAN  LOTTERY       ....  82 

"AND  A  LITTLE  CHILD  SHALL  LEAD 

THEM" 115 

A  LAME  DOG 145 

THE  MOVIE  FAN 165 

PERTAINING  TO  THINGS  SPIRITUAL      .        .  205 

THE  BLUE-EYED  LADY  230 


IMPULSES 


THE  CASE  OF  SANDY 

Great  preparations  were  under  way  for 
the  monthly  dinner  dance  at  the  Club.  These 
recently  inaugurated  affairs  were  a  popular 
success,  and  Sandy,  chairman  of  the  enter- 
tainment committee,  found  himself  beset  with 
so  much  advice  from  an  exacting  board  of 
directors,  and  so  many  well-meant  offers  of 
help  from  laymen,  that  he  was  well-nigh  dis- 
tracted. 

Nevertheless  he  surveyed  with  satisfac- 
tion the  order  emerging  from  chaos  in  the 
dining-room  under  the  hands  of  several  well- 
trained  men,  and  glancing  at  his  watch,  saw 
that  he  had  barely  time  for  his  self -promised 
half-hour  of  quiet  before  the  guests  would  be- 
gin to  arrive. 

"Keep  right  along,  you're  doing  fine,"  he 
assured  the  steward.  "I'll  be  back  in  a  little 
while."  Hastily  eluding  another  bit  of  ama- 
teur advice,  Sandy  escaped  to  the  waiting  ele- 
vator, and  so  to  the  street. 

Up  the  hill  a  few  blocks  from  the  Club,  in 


• :  .' 

"    .. 


a  room  on  the  third  floor  of  "The  Blythe  Fam- 
ily Boarding  House,"  a  girl  stood  practising 
on  the  violin.  For  three  hours  she  had  been 
at  it,  and  suddenly,  as  daylight  faded,  she 
realized  that  she  was  very  tired. 

A  loud  rap  on  the  door  caused  the  instru- 
ment to  slide  from  the  girl's  shoulder  as  with 
a  frightened  start  she  turned. 

"Yes?"  she  answered,  and  the  angular 
form  of  Mrs.  Blythe,  unsavory  from  the  prep- 
aration of  the  evening  meal,  appeared  upon 
the  threshold. 

The  fortunate  Mr.  Blythe,  long-since  de- 
parted for  an  unknown  world,  had  not  been 
responsible  for  his  own  name,  and  such  as  it 
was  it  had  suited  him  very  well.  Having  be- 
stowed it  with  the  rest  of  his  worldly  goods 
upon  the  woman  of  his  choice  when  entering 
the  holy  estate  of  matrimony  he  had  been  hap- 
pily snatched  away  after  a  brief  illness  be- 
fore the  misapplication  of  its  cheery  signifi- 
cance had  had  time  to  embitter  his  existence. 

Such  is  the  impertinence  of  the  human 
race  that  this  misfit  name  caused  much  ill- 
timed  merriment  for  which  Mrs.  Blythe  could 
not  be  fairly  held  accountable.  As  she  stood 
now,  grim  and  menacing,  surveying  her  slim 
young  lodger  and  the  bare,  unattractive  room, 


IMPULSES  3 

she  would  appear  a  melancholy  jest  indeed  to 
any  but  the  most  ironic. 

"Did — did  you  want  anything,  Mrs. 
Ely  the?"  foolishly  stammered  the  girl,  for  she 
read  the  message  in  the  woman's  cold  eyes. 

"Yes,  I'm  wantin'  something"  Mrs.  Blythe 
snapped.  "I  can't  have  them  complaints  goin' 
on  any  longer.  There's  them  that  have  nerves 
in  this  house,  an'  they  pay  fer  'em,  an'  I've 
got  to  consider  'em." 

"Oh !"  breathed  the  girl.  Her  brave  brown 
eyes  clouded  a  trifle.  She  knew  what  was 
coming.  She  had  dreaded  it  for  six  whole 
weeks,  while  she  had  watched  her  shabby,  flat, 
old  purse  grow  flatter,  and  had  cut  her  meals 
down  from  two  to  one  a  day. 

"They  say  they  can't  stand  all  this  scrap- 
in'  an'  squallin'  any  longer,  an'  that's  what." 

"You  want  me  to  go,  I  suppose?" 

"Yes,  I've  offers  for  this  room  I  can't  af- 
ford to  refuse.  It's  a  choice  corner." 

The  gaze  of  the  brown  eyes  turned  to  the 
one  window,  four  feet  away  from  which  an 
alluring  brick  wall  caught  the  reflection  of  a 
parting  ray  of  sunlight.  It  tried  to  tell  what 
might  be  in  the  glorious  world  of  the  real  out- 
of-doors,  and  the  brown  eyes  caught  a  gleam 
of  the  reflection.  Actually  it  seemed  funny. 


4  IMPULSES 

One  might  laugh  but  for  the  restraining 
thought  of  the  flat,  shabby  purse. 

"I'm  sorry  I've  been  owing  you  so  long, 
Mrs.  Blythe,  and  I  can't  give  up  my  practis- 
ing. It  means  my  living,  you  know." 

"A  great,  strappin'  girl  like  you  oughter 
be  doin'  housework  or  somethin'  useful,"  ad- 
vised the  landlady. 

The  gleam  in  the  girl's  eyes  became  defi- 
ant. "I  asked  you  last  week  to  let  me  help  you 
do  up  the  rooms  for  my  board,"  she  reminded 
her. 

Mrs.  Blythe  needed  no  reminder,  and  she 
also  distinctly  remembered  her  elaborate  re- 
joinder at  the  time  concerning  "fine  ladies 
who  were  too  pretty  to  be  fussing  around  the 
rooms  of  the  men  lodgers,"  but  she  instantly 
resented  the  implication  of  inconsistency. 

"There's  them  that  can  be  impudent,"  she 
announced  to  the  opposite  wall,  "but  I  ain't 
got  no  room  for  'em.  I'd  like  this  room  vacat- 
ed tomorrow  morning,  Miss  Felton." 

Turning  on  her  slatternly  heels,  the  land- 
lady clattered  away  down  the  two  flights  of 
back-stairs  to  the  kitchen,  whence  issued  the 
mingled  sounds  and  smells  of  sizzling  fat  and 
other  adjuncts  peculiar  to  a  dinner  in  "family 
style." 


IMPULSES  5 

| 

Marian  Felton  mechanically  closed  the 
door,  shutting  out  the  smoky,  sickening  odor. 
Recently  she  had  not  been  going  down  to  din- 
ner. She  was  not  hungry  in  the  evening,  she 
explained;  and  each  time  her  healthy  young 
appetite  had  gnawed  resentfully  at  the  lie. 

Now,  unfortunately,  the  statement  was 
the  truth.  It  was  not  the  hunger  of  youthful 
strength;  it  was  the  weakness  of  poor  nutri- 
tion, it  was  deadly  nausea — it  was  sometimes 
despair.  The  last-named  formed  horrible, 
grotesque  shapes  during  the  late  hours  of  the 
night,  that  danced  about  her  bed. 

The  light  spot  on  the  bricks  outside  trav- 
elled up — and  up — and  out  of  sight.  The  end 
of  the  quiet  bow  rested  on  the  floor  as  the  girl 
sat  on  the  edge  of  her  bed,  facing  the  gather- 
ing darkness,  and  clasping  the  violin,  her  one 
friend,  to  her  breast. 

Next  week  an  engagement  to  play  for  a 
small  club  dance  would  bring  her  a  few  dol- 
lars, but  between  then  and  now  would  come 
many  meal  hours.  Afterward  nothing  ap- 
peared on  her  horizon. 

Outside  in  the  busy  streets  show-windows 
were  being  lighted,  and  gay  electric  signs 
flashed  out,  inviting  the  passing  throng  to 
share  in  the  evening's  fun.  From  the  gloom 
within  came  thoughts  of  what  one  might  be 


6  IMPULSES 

forced  to  do,  and  what  for  several  weeks  past 
had  been  haunting  her. 

With  a  quivering  start  the  girl  finally 
came  out  of  her  stupor,  and  springing  up  she 
turned  on  the  one  light.  She  brushed  and 
smoothed  her  disordered  dress  and  hair. 
Then,  slowly  from  the  bureau  she  took  a  small, 
round  box.  Opening  it  she  dabbed  her  finger 
gingerly  in  its  contents  and  held  it  up  to  the 
light,  surveying  the  rosy  tip,  and  holding  it 
next  her  pale  cheek. 

"Great  owl-eyes!"  she  thought.  "I  hate 
you!" 

Then  with  sudden  revulsion  of  feeling  she 
cast  the  box  to  the  floor  where  it  rattled  away 
in  circles  far  under  the  bed.  No,  she  could 
never  do  that — never,  never!  Better  starve, 
or — yes,  there  were  easier  ways  than  starva- 
tion. Presently  she  would  go  out  and  walk  a 
little.  There  must  be  someone,  surely  some- 
one, who  would  help  her  without  demanding 
a  price. 

People  had  told  her  that  there  would  be 
few  to  aid  her  to  be  strong,  but  many  to  pull 
her  downward,  yet  despite  all  the  hard  knocks 
she  had  received,  despite  the  nightly  visita- 
tion of  grotesque  shapes,  she  still  clung  to  her 
faith  in  the  kindliness  of  humanity. 

Laying  her  precious  instrument  in  its  case. 


IMPULSES  7 

she  put  on  her  old  jacket,  hat,  and  shreds  of 
gloves;  then  with  a  stifled  gasp  when  the 
smoke  of  dinner  met  her  as  she  opened  the 
door,  she  hastened  down  the  stairs  and  was 
soon  one  of  the  hurrying  crowd  on  the  street. 

Half  a  dozen  blocks  away  three  men  stood 
on  a  corner  discussing  dinner.  Not  any  din- 
ner, but  the  forthcoming  club  affair. 

Comments  in  reference  to  what  might  be 
"run  in  on  them"  during  the  evening  were 
being  repeated  gathered  from  certain  mem- 
bers of  the  board  of  directors. 

"I'm  not  going  to  run  in  anything  on 
them,"  declared  one,  a  slight,  brown-haired 
individual  with  a  determined  chin,— evidently 
a  person  in  authority, — "and  now  I'm  going 
where  I  can  get  something  to  eat." 

"Listen  to  Sandy!"  gibed  another.  "He's 
afraid  of  eating  the  dinner  he's  ordered !" 

"Go  to  hell,  Dan!"  politely  and  promptly 
responded  Sandy. 

"What's  the  matter  with  the  feed  at  the 
Club  tonight,  if  you  have  to  go  somewhere  else 
to  get  something  to  eat?"  shouted  Dan,  to 
whom  several  superfluous  highballs  had  given 
the  impression  that  Sandy  was  half  a  block 
away. 

"Shut  your  face,  Dan,  before  you're  ar- 
rested for  speeding,"  suggested  the  third  man, 


8  IMPULSES 

stepping  in  front  of  Sandy,  whose  chin  was 
assuming  a  well-known  characteristic  tilt 
which  it  was  wise  to  conciliate. 

"There's  nothing  the  matter  with  the  din- 
ner," he  asserted  with  portentous  calm.  "It's 
just  the  dope  for  you  and  your  friends,  Dan, 
and  I've  got  a  table  engaged  for  some  of  my 
friends,  but  just  the  same,  I'm  going  now 
where  I  can  get  something  decent  to  eat,  with 


no  music." 


"How's  your  program  for  tonight?"  asked 
the  third  man.  "Are  you  full  up?" 

"No,  I'm  short  one  number,"  growled 
Sandy.  "That  fool  Carlton  renigged  a  few 
minutes  ago." 

Just  then  a  touch  on  his  arm  made  him 
turn  to  confront  the  gaze  of  a  pair  of  sweet 
brown  eyes,  while  a  faltering  low  voice  asked : 

"Could — will  you  give  me  ten  cents  to  get 
something  to  eat?  I'm  hungry." 

Somewhat  roughly  he  shook  off  the  detain- 
ing hand.  How  dared  the  girl  approach  him 
so  publicly !  But  silence  came  upon  the  group, 
and  jests  of  dinner  fell  flat. 

The  girl  shrank  back  against  a  shop  win- 
dow, while  the  reluctant  Sandy  stole  a  glance 
at  the  thin,  white  cheek  revealed  by  the  elec- 
tric light 


IMPULSES  9 

Despite  his  firm  chin  a  warm  heart  beat  in 
Sandy's  breast  that  never  failed  to  respond  to 
a  call  of  weakness  or  distress,  albeit  his  stern 
mind  continually  strove  to  reduce  it  to  order 
and  common-sense. 

"Say  boys,  she's  hungry  all  right,"  he  ad- 
mitted. "I  don't  care  if  I  do."  Stepping  up  to 
the  girl  he  gave  her  a  dime. 

The  third  man  promptly  followed  suit,  but 
hilarious  Dan  noisily  jingled  a  handful  of  sil- 
ver in  front  of  the  startled  girl's  face,  and 
flipped  a  quarter  into  her  protesting  hand. 

"I— I  couldn't,"  she  faltered.  "I  asked 
for  only  ten  cents." 

"  'Ten  cents,  my  baby!'"  chuckled  Dan, 
"What's  that  for  a  beauty  like  you?  Come 
with  me,  I'll  give  you  something  to  eat!" 

"See  here,  Dan,  cut  that  out,"  threatened 
Sandy.  "Can't  you  see  she's  not  that  kind? 
Shut  up,  and  go  home !" 

"Shut  up  yourself!  Why  doesn't  she  go 
home,  then,  from  her  work?  I  guess  you  don't 
have  to  work,  eh,  my  lady?" 

Marion  drew  herself  up  and  measured  the 
man  with  one  deep  glance. 

"You're  drunk,"  she  said,  "or  you 
wouldn't  talk  like  that.  I  don't  want  your 
money."  She  laid  the  quarter  down  on  the 
window  ledge,  and  turned  to  the  two  other 


10  IMPULSES 

men.  "Thank  you  for  my  dinner,"  she  said, 
and  slipped  away  down  the  street. 

"You  brute!"  exclaimed  Sandy,  and  start- 
ed after  her.  She  had  gone  only  a  few  steps 
when  he  caught  her. 

"I  want  to  talk  to  you,"  Ke  said.  "You're 
only  a  little  girl,  and  you  need  help,  don't 
you?" 

Tears  filled  the  brown  eyes.  "Yes,"  she 
answered.  It  was  all  she  could  find  to  say 
just  then. 

By  this  time  the  two  others  had  joined 
them,  bound  to  be  in  on  Sandy's  new  game. 
Annoyed,  he  glanced  up,  but  otherwise  took 
no  notice  of  them. 

"What  kind  of  work  can  you  do?"  he  asked 
bluntly ;  it  was  his  way. 

"I  play  the  violin,"  she  answered;  "some- 
times for  dances,  or  dinners — or — other  en- 
tertainments." 

"Oh,  Lord!"  groaned  Sandy  inwardly, 
cursing  his  unlucky  star  which  had  led  him  to 
linger  on  the  street  corner.  Strains  of  more 
unwelcome  music  haunted  his  unwilling  soul. 
Was  there  no  quiet  spot  on  earth  where  one 
could  dine  in  peace,  unentertained! 

Suddenly  an  idea  came  to  him.  Life,  with 
Sandy,  was  a  series  of  impulses.  "Keep  your 
heart  and  mind  working  clean,"  was  his  the- 


IMPULSES  11 

ory,  "and  your  impulses  will  be  all  right." 
And  with  him  they  usually  were.  Now  this 
idea — why  not?  He  was  short  a  number  on 
account  of  that  fool  Carlton. 

"Are  you  sure  you  can  play?"  he  asked. 

"Sure,  I  can,"  she  asserted,  her  face  light- 
ing up. 

The  other  men  listened,  aghast.  What  as- 
inine act  was  Sandy  about  to  commit  now? 

"Go  slow,  old  man,"  nudged  the  anxious 
third  man.  "If  she's  a  decent  musician  why 
is  she  begging  on  the  street  corners?" 

Sandy  vouchsafed  no  reply,  his  own  din- 
ner hour  was  calling  him. 

"Look  here,"  he  told  her;  "if  you're  giving 
me  the  true  dope  you  come  up  to  the  Club  to- 
night at  eight  o'clock  and  bring  your  fiddle 
with  you.  Sure  thing,  I'll  give  you  a  job." 

Extracting  a  club  card  from  a  pocket-book 
and  scribbling  a  name  on  it,  Sandy  gave  it  to 
the  girl.  "You're  sure  you're  not  jollying 
me?"  he  urged. 

Her  only  reply  was  to  produce  a  small 
card  from  her  jacket  pocket.  It  was  a  union 
card  and  seemed  to  prove  her  assertion. 

"All  right,"  said  Sandy.  "You  come 
around  to  where  my  card  tells  you  at  eight 
o'clock.  You'll  find  a  whole  lot  of  people 


12  IMPULSES 

there,  and  you  can  play  for  them  for,  well,  the 
usual  price." 

"I'll  come/'  she  answered,  her  hands 
tightly  clasped  to  hold  the  joy  and  sobs  surg- 
ing in  her  tired  heart.  Then  again  she  slipped 
away  down  the  street. 

"You're  a  damn  fool,  Sandy,"  guffawed 
Dan,  slightly  sobered,  though  still  doubting. 

"That's  where  you're  mistaken,  old  top," 
responded  Sandy.  "It's  you  who  are  that  kind 
of  fool !  And  now  I  must  beg  to  be  excused," 
he  continued,  politely  ironic.  "I  must  go  and 
eat." 

At  eight  o'clock  the  handsome  Club  rooms 
were  filled  with  light,  warmth,  and  a  cheerful 
crowd.  As  it  was  Ladies'  Night,  feminine 
curiosity  was  being  appeased  with  that  rare 
and  unusual  behavior  assumed  by  the  club 
man  when  he  allows  his  womenkind  to  invade 
his  own  special  and  particular  quarters. 
Pleasantries,  such  as,  "good  old  chap!"  and 
"I  get  you,  old  man,"  now  circulated  where  to- 
morrow the  same  circumstances  would  bring 
forth  terse  profanity  and  invitations  to 
warmer  climes.  All  was  serene,  and  "what 
good  times  men  had  among  themselves,  hadn't 
they?'' 

Numerous  round  tables  accommodating 


IMPULSES  13 

lively  groups  varying  in  number  from  four 
to  ten  filled  the  large  dining-room.  At  one 
end  on  a  small  stage  an  orchestra  did  its  pop- 
ular ragtime  best  to  aid  digestion.  It  was  the 
laudable  intent  of  the  entertainment  commit- 
tee to  have  "something  doing  every  minute," 
and  thus  far  there  had  been  no  noticeable 
lapses. 

Only  by  possessing  several  astral  shapes 
could  the  ordinary  person  have  accomplished 
what  came  into  the  course  of  the  ubiquitous 
Sandy's  evening  when  he  had  an  affair  in 
charge.  Just  now  he  was  doing  three  things. 
He  was  raising  his  finger  as  a  signal  for  the 
orchestra  to  play  an  encore ;  he  was  assuring 
the  lady  who  occupied  the  seat  beside  his  va- 
cant chair  at  table  that  he  never  ate  dinner, 
but  that  he  would  soon  be  overjoyed  to  occupy 
that  chair  simply  because  she  was  there;  he 
was  consulting  his  watch  and  discovering  that 
it  was  eight  o'clock,  and  thinking  (fourth  oc- 
cupation) "that  darned  girl  isn't  coming  after 
all.  I  was  a  fool  to  think  she  would." 

Dexter,  the  desk  clerk,  touched  his  arm. 
"There's  a  lady  in  the  reception-room  to  see 
you,  sir." 

A  sense  of  renewed  faith  glowed  through 
Sandy.  "Good!  She's  here,"  he  thought.  "I'll 
come,"  he  said,  and  a  half-minute  later  he 


14  IMPULSES 

stood  before  Marian  Felton  where  she  sat 
waiting  in  the  great,  softly-lighted  room.  His 
keen  glance  took  in  all  the  pitiful  attempts  at 
making  herself  presentable  for  the  evening, 
but  his  manner  showed  nothing  of  this. 

"Well,  you're  here,"  he  said  genially.  "I 
knew  you'd  come." 

She  looked  up  in  great  surprise.  Had  he 
ever  doubted  it? 

"Of  course,"  she  answered. 

"Did  you  get  some  dinner?"  he  asked 
thoughtlessly,  and  then  felt  ashamed.  Twenty 
cents  between  this  frail  little  creature  and 
starvation — or  something  worse! 

"Oh,  yes !"  A  silly  lump  in  her  throat  pre- 
vented her  saying  anything  more  just  then, 
and  she  fumbled  with  her  music-roll  instead. 

"Let  me  have  a  look  at  your  selection," 
said  Sandy. 

She  spread  out  an  assortment,  classical, 
ragtime,  popular — the  usual  medicore  thing. 

"All  right,  let's  have  a  go  at  these,"  he 
suggested,  laying  three  aside.  "You  may  play 
early,  if  you  like,  and  have  it  over,  eh?" 

"Oh,  I'm  not  nervous!"  smiled  the  girl, 
with  a  quick,  indrawn  breath.  She  was  not 
nervous,  no,  not  now ;  but  two  hours  ago  she 
had  been,  and  one  does  not  recover  quickly  on 
two  rolls  and  a  bowl  of  broth. 


IMPULSES  15 

Applause  following  the  orchestra  encore 
sounded,  and  several  committee-men  looked 
about  for  their  chairman.  No  interval  was 
allowed  for  worry  because  miraculously 
Sandy  appeared  at  that  moment  on  the  stage 
from  behind  the  scenes.  There  were  those,  es- 
pecially the  lady  with  the  blue  eyes  who  sat 
beside  his  vacant  chair,  who  could  have  sworn 
that  he  had  left  the  dining-room  by  the  main 
door  leading  toward  the  big  reception-room, 
yet  there  he  was  near  the  piano  laying  seme 
sheets  of  music  in  front  of  the  pianist,  and 
setting  up  a  stand  for  a  slight,  young  violinist 
who  was  visible  in  the  background.  A  mo- 
ment later  he  announced  that  Miss  Marian 
Felton  would  now  contribute  to  the  pleasure 
of  the  evening  with  several  violin  numbers. 

Careless  diners  glanced  up  from  their 
plates  or  partners,  then  down  again.  Enter- 
tainers come  and  go;  so  few  make  any  per- 
manent impression  in  these  blase  times.  But 
one  after  another  the  diners  glanced  up  again. 
What  a  queer  gown  Miss  Marian  Felton  wore 
for  an  evening  affair.  Why,  on  close  inspec- 
tion it  looked  shabby;  and  what  weird  eyes 
she  had,  set  in  a  small,  pale  face ! 

This  was  a  dinner,  however,  not  a  concert, 
and  conversation  droned  on  with  little  abate- 
ment during  the  first  selection. 


IMPULSES  17 

"Picked  her  right  up  off  the  street  not  two 
hours  ago.  Now  what  do  you  know  about 
that?"  he  hiccoughed. 

Later,  he  was  strenuously  admonished  to 
desist,  but  not  before  his  irresponsible  tongue 
had  wagged  freely,  slinging  mud  where  only 
pure  gold  would  stick. 

Silence  gradually  came  upon  the  room. 
What  was  this  the  girl  was  playing?  No  one 
could  place  it,  yet  everyone  had  heard  it  be- 
fore. 

Something  caught  and  held  remote  mem- 
ories, bringing  out  from  dim  corners  the 
scent  of  a  rose,  the  feel  of  a  hand,  the  low  ca- 
dence of  a  voice,  all — all  these  things  which 
are  laid  away  in  the  hidden  chambers  of  each 
heart,  whether  the  reality,  or  the  secret  desire 
for  them — under  layer  upon  layer  of  conven- 
tion, materialism,  or  any  of  the  many  excuses 
which  accomplish  the  same  purpose. 

While  she  played  the  sweet  old  air  writh  an 
accompaniment  of  her  own  interwoven  with 
many  chords  and  thrilling  little  trills  like 
early  morning  bird-calls,  Miss  Marian  Fel- 
ton's  eyes  glowed  and  danced  as  though  they 
were  reflecting  a  lake  of  living  fire,  and  her 
cheeks  flushed  a  glorious  pink.  Her  magic 
bow  drew  her  audience,  willing  and  unwilling, 
wherever  it  chose  to  lead  them. 


16  IMPULSES 

Truthfully  speaking  it  was  nothing  out  of 
the  ordinary,  but  Sandy,  standing  in  the 
wings,  saw  much  that  the  casual  audience 
could  not. 

"Brave  kid!"  his  kind  heart  thumped  to 
his  stern  mind,  where  it  was  promptly  com- 
manded to  "shut  up !" 

A  perfunctory  round  of  applause  greeted 
Miss  Felton's  first  effort  and  she  looked  un- 
certainly in  Sandy's  direction.  He  gave  her 
an  encouraging  "hand,"  so  she  raised  her  vio- 
lin again. 

As  the  accompanist  enquiringly  lifted  an- 
other sheet  of  music  the  girl  shook  her  head. 
"I'll  play  alone  this  time." 

And  then  a  strange  thing  happened  at  a 
Ladies'  Night  Dinner.  Because  it  was  Sun- 
day, perhaps,  and  in  spite  of  the  most  hard- 
ened, Sabbath-breaking  habits,  there  are 
things  one  cannot  forget;  or,  perhaps,  there 
was  something  unusual  about  the  girl  after 
all — was  it  pathos,  or  what?  Or  was  it  be- 
cause people  do  have  hearts,  much  as  they 
strive  to  conceal  them? 

While  it  was  taking  place,  down  in  a  cor- 
ner farthest  from  the  stage,  Dan  was  giving 
his  own  half-tipsy  version  to  a  few  congenial 
pals,  of  "Sandy's  latest." 


18  IMPULSES 

The  "third  man/'  seated  beside  Dan, 
swore  fearfully  into  that  talkative  person's 
ear,  adjuring  him  to  hold  his  tongue,  which 
command  Dan  immediately  put  into  literal 
practice,  yet  did  not  receive  the  expected 
laugh. 

"Say,  she  can  play!"  admitted  the  "third 
man."  "Gee,  that's  some  tune!" 

The  plaintive  air  wailed  itself  away  in 
three  or  four  lingering  notes.  The  pink  flush 
faded,  the  eyes  grew  tired.  The  bow  almost 
slipped  from  a  nerveless  little  hand,  yet  Miss 
Marian  Felton  was  ready  to  receive  her  ap- 
plause when  it  came.  A  moment  of  silence 
preceded  it.  There  were  lumps  in  throats  to 
reduce,  there  were  layers  upon  layers  of  dead- 
ening material  to  be  replaced,  there  were  doors 
seldom  opened  to  be  relocked.  Sandy,  in  his 
sheltered  corner,  hammered  on  his  chest  to 
dislodge  a  horrible  obstruction,  and  winked 
rapidly,  calling  himself  all  kinds  of  an  idiot. 
Then  the  applause  burst  forth,  long  and  insis- 
tent. 

The  glow  and  flush  came  again  as  the  girl 
looked  down  on  the  sea  of  clapping  hands  and 
waving  napkins.  Then  another  of  Sandy's 
impulses  arrived,  swift,  and  fatal  to  his 
peace  of  mind  until  carried  out.  Taking  the 
girl's  hand,  after  he  thought  she  had  received 


IMPULSES  19 

enough  encouragement  from  her  audience,  he 
raised  his  own  for  silence. 

"Miss  Felton  will  play  again  for  us,"  he 
announced.  "Meantime  let  us  do  something 
to  try  and  show  her  what  we  really  think  of 
her.  Here's  a  starter !" 

Snatching  up  her  old-fashioned  sailor-hat 
from  an  off-stage  chair,  he  tossed  a  coin  into 
it.  "Go  to  it,  boys!"  he  cried  to  the  aston- 
ished crowd,  and  before  anyone  realized  what 
was  happening,  least  of  all  Miss  Marian  Fel- 
ton herself,  she  was  threading  her  way  in  and 
out  among  the  tables,  playing  again  sweet 
snatches  of  the  heart-stirring  air,  while  close 
behind  followed  Sandy,  extracting  contribu- 
tions with  a  mixture  of  ingratiating  persuas- 
iveness and  vengeful  threatening  impossible 
to  resist. 

An  enthusiastic  mob  spirit  took  possession 
of  the  crowd.  Men  dug  down  with  cheerful 
alacrity  into  the  pockets  of  their  Sunday  trou- 
sers and  brought  forth  coins  both  large  and 
small,  while  women  rummaged  in  their  sweet- 
scented  bags  and  vanity-boxes  to  see  if  by 
chance  they  had  tucked  in  some  carfare. 

It  required  no  explanation  from  Sandy 
why  he  was  establishing  this  precedent,  if  as 
such  it  would  be  regarded.  One  look  at  the 
pathetic,  much-mended  gown  of  white  cotton 


20  IMPULSES 

crepe  would  have  been  enough  without  the 
added  reason  of  the  brown  eyes,  far  too  large 
and  bright  for  the  white  face.  The  women 
saw  the  gown,  and  wondered  what  they  had  in 
their  cedar  chests  that  would  fit  her.  The 
men  saw  the  eyes,  and  ruminated  on  the  cause 
of  them,  and  wondered  also. 

In  one  noticeable  quarter  only  was  this 
move  of  Sandy's  regarded  with  disfavor.  At 
a  table  near  the  center  of  the  room  sat  several 
of  the  august  board  of  directors.  A  rumor  of 
Dan's  flighty  remarks  had  reached  them.  This 
and  a  chronic  unrest  caused  by  Sandy's  unex- 
pected movements  upon  all  occasions,  made 
them  regard  any  action  of  his  with  suspicion. 

Time  and  again  it  had  been  agreed  in  sol- 
emn conclave  that  something  must  be  done 
with  him,  and  the  present  appeared  to  be  one 
of  the  sample  cases  for  deliberation. 

In  the  midst  of  the  general  enthusiasm, 
however,  the  dignity  of  this  group  was  not  es- 
pecially observed  save  by  Sandy's  all-seeing 
eye,  and  the  sight  caused  him,  as  ever,  a  great 
and  unholy  joy. 

The  worn  old  sailor-hat  performed  its  of- 
fice nobly,  and  after  the  first  bashful  plunge 
into  this  novel  occupation,  its  owner  went 
through  the  ordeal  bravely,  happily,  turning 
now  and  then  toward  her  leader  in  the  enter- 


IMPULSES  21 

prise  for  guidance.  She  allowed  even  Dan's 
tainted  quarter  to  drop  in  with  the  rest,  giv- 
ing him  a  faint  smile  of  restored  good-will  as 
she  passed. 

Walking  in  and  out  as  though  in  a  maze 
she  finally  reached  the  center  table  at  which 
sat  the  aforesaid  august  board  members,  but 
seeming  to  feel  the  chill  as  she  approached, 
she  looked  at  them  apprehensively,  then 
veered  away  toward  Sandy. 

"You've  got  enough!  Oh,  far,  far  too 
much!"  she  protested.  "I  can't  take  any 
more." 

It  was  wise  not  to  press  the  point,  so  Sandy 
steered  her  past  the  table  without  comment, 
reading  upon  the  averted  faces,  with  grim 
satisfaction,  what  was  coming  to  him  on  the 
morrow.  There  was  a  directors'  meeting 
scheduled  for  the  next  morning  at  ten. 

When  they  returned  to  the  stage  the  or- 
chestra leader  came  quietly  to  Sandy. 

"Us  fellows  want  to  help,"  he  said  casu- 
ally, waving  his  hand  comprehensively  toward 
his  brother  musicians.  A  five-dollar  piece 
clinked  down  into  the  heap  of  silver,  and  be- 
tween Sandy  and  the  orchestra  leader  there 
passed  a  sense  of  that  divine  touch  which  is 
said  to  "render  the  whole  world  akin." 

An  hour  or  so  later  the  old  sailor-hat  had 


22  IMPULSES 

resumed  its  regular  occupation  of  covering 
Marian  Felton's  head,  and  a  little  canvas 
cash-bag  furnished  by  the  desk  clerk  held  the 
comfortable  assurance  that  she  could  occupy 
Mrs.  Blythe's  choice  corner  several  weeks 
longer. 

The  girl  was  trying  to  tell  Sandy  this  as 
she  received  the  fat  little  bag  from  his  hands, 
but  she  could  not,  and  he,  being  a  man  of  few 
words  on  certain  subjects,  sympathized,  but 
could  not  help  her. 

"I  enjoyed  my  dinner  so  much,"  she  said, 
referring  to  the  good  meal  which  had  been 
served  to  all  the  entertainers  at  a  table  of 
their  own  when  the  program  was  over;  "and 
— and — it  was  all  beautiful,  Mr. — Mr. — but  I 
don't  know  your  name,  do  I?" 

"I  have  so  many  you  could  never  remem- 
ber them  all,"  he  answered  whimsically. 
"Most  people  call  me  Sandy.  Let  it  go  at 
that." 

"I  can  never  thank  you,  Mr.  Sandy,"  she 
stammered.  "I — " 

"Don't  try,"  he  answered  brusquely.  "I've 
cut  'thank'  out  of  my  dictionary.  I  don't 
know  what  it  means." 

"Oh,  but  you  do!"  she  protested,  "and  I 
want  so  much  to—".  But  Marion  found  her- 


IMPULSES  23 

self  talking  to  rapidly  retreating  footsteps. 
Sandy  had  fled. 

Next  morning  Miss  Felton  went  down  to 
breakfast,  something  she  had  not  done  lately, 
and  afterward  Mrs.  Blythe  received  three 
weeks'  back  rent  for  her  choice  corner  which 
suddenly  appeared  to  be  again  at  its  present 
occupant's  disposal.  Incidentally  Miss  Felton 
also  dined  that  evening,  and  thereafter  re- 
sumed the  regular  habit  of  dining  with  a 
growing  and  healthy  young  appetite. 

The  august  board  of  directors  met  accord- 
ing to  appointment  at  ten,  and  under  the  head 
of  new  business,  although  it  was  really  old, 
they  discussed  the  case  of  Sandy. 

-"This  thing  has  got  to  be  stopped,  you 
know,"  announced  one  of  the  super-august; 
"this  establishing  a  precedent  of  that  sort, 
picking  up  girls  off  the  street  and  bringing 
them  in  here,  and  subjecting  our  guests  to  an 
exhibition  of  maudlin  sentimentality." 

"Yes,"  all  agreed,  "it  should  be  stopped." 

But  how? 

It  was  proposed  to  summon  the  chairman 
of  the  entertainment  committee  and  hear 
what  he  himself  had  to  say  about  the  matter. 
So  Sandy  was  sent  for.  This  was  the  usual 
procedure  of  the  august  board. 

Having  just  finished  his  breakfast  the  in- 


24  IMPULSES 

dividual  under  discussion  came  without  pro- 
test, his  toothpick  poised  at  an  aggravating 
angle.  Accepting  the  chair  offered  him,  he 
sat  down  and  removed  the  toothpick. 

"Good-morning,  gentlemen,"  he  remarked 
with  disarming  friendliness,  and  awaited 
their  pleasure  with  the  guileless  air  of  a 
school-boy.  Anything  would  have  been  easier 
to  combat  than  this  simple  attitude.  The 
august  board  suddenly  and  secretly  to  itself 
appeared  entirely  in  the  wrong. 

The  chairman  of  the  board  cleared  his 
throat,  the  chairman  of  the  entertainment 
committee  listened  solicitously. 

"Ahem!"  began  the  chairman  of  the 
board.  "You  have  been  summoned  before  this 
meeting  to  explain,  if  you  can,  the  peculiar  in- 
cident which  took  place  during  last  evening's 
performance.  The  honor  of  this  club  de- 
mands that — "  His  words  trailed  off  into  in- 
adequacy, confronted  by  Sandy's  infantile  be- 
wilderment. 

"Incident?"  he  queried,  reflectively  re- 
suming his  toothpick. 

"Yes,"  continued  the  chairman,  encour- 
aged by  the  reassuring  calm  of  his  colleagues. 
"We  feel  that  an  affront  has  been  offered  our 
guests,  I  might  say  an  insult,  to  the  ladies  es- 
pecially, which  we  shall  find  difficult  to  oblit- 


IMPULSES  25 

erate.  It  was  our  intention  in  establishing 
this  custom  of  Ladies'  Nights  to  bring  our 
guests  here  assured  that  they  would  find  the 
atmosphere  of  the  home.  I  shall  now  feel 
obliged  to  apologize  to  each  one  of  them  for 
the  embarrassing,  not  to  say  disgraceful,  po- 
sition in  which  they  were  placed  by  the  intro- 
duction of  this  girl  off  the  street  who — " 

During  this  arraignment  the  accused  had 
slowly  stiffened,  and  the  infantile  demeanour 
slipped  away  leaving  the  alert  man  of  action. 

As  the  chairman  reached  his  last  insulting 
sentence  Sandy  rose  to  his  feet,  and  his  ready 
tongue  was  about  to  cut  in  with  a  scathing 
rejoinder  when  Dexter  suddenly  interrupted 
the  meeting  with  the  information  that  Sandy 
was  wanted  at  the  telephone. 

"Excuse  me  a  moment,  gentlemen,"  said 
Sandy,  and  went  out  to  the  office  'phone. 

Several  board  members  shifted  cigars  and 
feet,  but  no  one  spoke.  Then  the  telephone  on 
the  table  at  the  chairman's  elbow  buzzed,  and 
he  took  the  receiver  off  the  hook.  Those 
watching  him  wondered  at  his  varying  facial 
expressions,  although  he  said  very  little  save, 
"I  see/'  and  "Certainly,  Madam,"  and  added 
other  polite  speeches  demanded  from  a  gentle- 
man when  a  lady  'phones.  How  glad  he  was 
that  the  board  members  could  not  hear  the 


26  IMPULSES 

whole  of  what  he  was  later  compelled  to  give 
them  the  gist! 

Now  the  lady  was  a  woman  of  distinction 
and  discrimination,  of  great  influence  in  club 
circles,  whom  they  had  been  proud  to  have  as 
their  guest.  She  was  the  blue-eyed  lady  who 
had  sat  beside  Sandy's  vacant  chair  at  table. 

"I  wanted  to  speak  to  the  chairman  of  the 
entertainment  committee,"  she  began,  "and  I 
have  already  exchanged  a  few  words  with  him 
regarding  that  talented  young  violinist  who 
entertained  us  so  charmingly  last  evening.  He 
has  switched  me  on  to  your  'phone,  as  he  says 
you  can  give  me  some  information  concerning 
her."  So  the  pleasant,  womanly  voice  contin- 
ued, telling  of  the  pleasure  all  the  guests  had 
enjoyed,  and  what  she  thought  of  the  splendid 
action  which  had  turned  the  tide  of  popular 
emotion  flowing  toward  the  needy  young  girl 
with  such  substantial  results.  "It  was  one  of 
the  best  things  I  ever  witnessed,"  she  assured 
the  embarrassed  chairman  of  the  board,  who 
longed  to  hang  up  the  receiver,  but  was  de- 
terred by  his  ever-ready  but  often  misdirected 
sense  of  club  honor. 

"It  would  be  better  for  all  of  us  to  be 
waked  up  oftener  from  our  selfish  apathy," 
went  on  the  lady.  "I  want  to  help  that 
girl.  I  have  asked  for  her  address.  She's  a 


IMPULSES  27 

genius,  frail  little  mite,  and  I  can  keep  her 
busy  for  awhile." 

"Very  well,  Madam,  certainly,"  respond- 
ed the  chairman  of  the  board,  mopping  his 
brow. 

Here  Sandy  appeared  on  the  threshold,  his 
mantle  of  simplicity  again  enveloping  him. 
The  chairman  was  powerless  between  the  se- 
renity of  his  gaze  and  the  open  telephone. 

"Kindly  give  the  lady  the  information 
she  wishes  at  the  office  'phone/'  commanded 
the  chairman  gruffly.  "And,  by  the  way,  ow- 
ing to  lack  of  time,  your  case  is  dismissed  this 
morning." 

"Very  good,"  responded  Sandy  politely, 
retiring  to  close  the  conversation  rather 
abruptly  with  the  clubwoman.  Her  laudations 
of  his  own  unpremeditated  act  embarrassed 
him. 

The  chairman  of  the  board  made  very  few 
remarks  suffice  for  his  explanation  to  the  as- 
tonished members.  This,  however,  was  no  un- 
usual occurrence,  and  thus  once  more  by  unan- 
imous consent  the  case  of  Sandy  was  "laid 
upon  the  table." 


THE  HOBO  DINNER. 

The  whole  glory  of  the  affair  rested  with 
Sandy.  It  covered  him  like  a  coat  of  many 
colors,  whereof  blame,  inconvenience,  recrim- 
ination, the  overwhelming  personal  twist  to 
himself,  and  many  other  phases  formed  the 
resultant  hues. 

It  was  just  in  line  with  all  his  crazy  no- 
tions, the  board  of  club  directors  declared, 
when  the  plan  was  "sprung  upon  them." 
They  yielded  to  it,  however,  as  they  usually 
did  to  his  schemes. 

The  idea  came  to  Sandy  about  two  o'clock 
one  dismal  afternoon  as  he  walked  through 
the  square  from  his  comfortable  luncheon. 

Why  not  give  a  hobo  dinner  at  the  Club? 

There  they  sat  in  rows  on  the  park 
benches,  all  degrees  and  dimensions  of  the 
genus  "hobo,"  from  the  "gentleman  in  re- 
duced circumstances,"  to  the  veriest  bunch  of 
rags  that  ever  tramped  the  ties,  only  that 
morning  arrived  from  a  dusty  railway  jour- 
ney. 

"Poor  ginks!"  mentally  ejaculated  Sandy, 


IMPULSES  29 

genially  conscious  of  his  own  well-filled  in- 
terior. He  regarded  their  varied  shapes  and 
hungry  eyes  with  more  than  usual  interest. 
Sandy  was  always  observant  during  his  walks 
about  town,  and  read  many  a  story  in  the 
lines  of  a  face  or  the  glance  of  an  eye. 

No  doubt  the  stories  were  often  wrong, 
but  right  lay  in  the  human  interest  expressed. 
Away  back  in  his  mind  lay  the  memory  of  a 
younger  brother.  Donald  was  a  lad  of  ten 
when  Sandy,  a  man  of  twenty,  had  left  home. 
They  had  never  met  again,  those  two,  but  dur- 
ing the  intervening  years  the  gradually  les- 
sening news  from  home  had  been  more  and 
more  unfavorable  concerning  Donald. 

Finally  Donald  also  had  left  home,  a  slave 
to  drink,  and  the  great  Canadian  forest  coun- 
try had  swallowed  him  up.  That  was  many 
years  ago,  and  now  no  one  ever  gave  him  a 
thought,  save  the  mother-heart  at  home  which 
never  forgets;  and  occasionally  a  brother  or 
sister  held  a  fleeting  impression  of  Donald's 
presence  in  far-off  childhood  games. 

Nothing  annoyed  Sandy  more  than  the  im- 
putation of  "brotherly  love,"  or  "the  hand  of 
fellowship"  held  out  to  suffering  humanity, 
yet  results  often  proved  directly  contrary  to 
his  professed  methods  of  action.  Just  now 
he  reflectively  considered  the  "poor  ginks." 


30  IMPULSES 

They  grilled  in  summer  and  froze  in  winter 
on  those  corrugated  benches.  Apparently 
they  never  left  them.  How  did  they  subsist? 
Who  cared  whether  they  went  or  stayed? 

Sandy  could  testify  that  the  midnight  and 
early  morning  hours  found  them  there, 
stretched  only  in  slightly  different  attitudes 
from  those  of  mid-day.  What  a  pleasing 
pastime  it  would  be  jauntily  to  crook  a  fore- 
finger in  one  of  their  stupid  faces  late  some 
afternoon  and  say:  "Come  along  with  me! 
You're  invited  to  dinner  at  the  Club.  Excuse 
a  late  invitation/'  and  then  side-step  the  as- 
tonished owner  of  the  face  to  the  best  meal  he 
had  enjoyed  for  who  knows  how  long! 

During  his  short  diagonal  walk  through 
the  well-filled  park  Sandy  apportioned  one 
guest  apiece  to  each  of  his  fellow  clubmen.  A 
bath,  a  dinner,  and  a  bed  appeared  on  the  pro- 
gram of  each,  for  after  surveying  the  first 
half-dozen  prospective  guests  the  bath  natur- 
ally presented  itself  to  the  imagination;  and 
after  a  bath  and  a  good  dinner,  why  not  a 
smoke  and  a  bed?  Something  cheering  to 
drink  was  another  item.  Sandy's  impulses 
were  often  elaborately  logical. 

His  enthusiasm  bounded  and  leaped.  Be- 
fore he  left  the  square  there  was  no  hobo 
either  dirty  enough  or  hungry  enough  to  sat- 


IMPULSES  31 

isfy  his  craving  for  well-doing.  He  was 
aware  that  there  are  various  degrees  of  caste 
in  trampdom,  and  over  there  in  vacant  lots 
beyond  the  Club,  or  behind  the  walls  of  old 
buildings  about  to  be  renovated,  he  knew  of 
choice  specimens  of  humanity  far  too  low  to 
associate  in  broad  daylight  with  these  higher 
grades  who  occupied  comfortable  park 
benches. 

He  knew  just  the  spot  to  which  he  would 
go  in  search  of  his  hobo.  He  had  noticed  him, 
not  individually,  but  in  groups  of  four  or  so, 
skulking  about  in  shadowy  corners  by  day, 
and  creeping  out  by  night  to  accost  a  passer- 
by for  change,  always  being  careful  to  keep 
out  of  sight  of  a  member  of  "The  Force." 

Perhaps  also  he  would  tip  off  a  few  of  "the 
fellows"  as  to  where  these  special  favorites  of 
misfortune  were  to  be  found,  but  he  was  not 
sure  about  this.  It  might  be  he  would  reserve 
them  all  for  himself  from  which  to  choose  the 
most  wretched  of  the  bunch.  No  doubts  as- 
sailed Sandy.  A  plan  once  formed  needed 
only  his  firm  will  to  carry  it  through.  Impa- 
tience to  issue  his  invitations  caused  him  to 
look  at  his  watch.  Too  late  for  today;  his  aft- 
ernoon was  full.  Besides,  a  short  interval 
would  be  needed  for  certain  judicious  prepar- 
ations. 


32  IMPULSES 

Quitting  the  park  he  turned  down  the 
street,  his  mind  reverting  for  a  moment  to  a 
recent  board  meeting  in  solemn  conclave  over 
an  episode  in  which  he  had  played  a  prominent 
part.  A  reminiscent  smile  curled  his  lips.  This 
also  would  be  a  success  if  he  set  his  mind  on 
it.  So  down  the  street  he  went,  with  quick 
step  and  eyes  alert  to  all  the  shifting  scenes 
through  which  he  passed,  yet  when  he  arrived 
at  his  destination  to  keep  a  tiresome  business 
engagement  the  details  of  menu  and  decora- 
tions were  already  planned  for  the  "Hobo 
Dinner." 

The  following  afternoon  the  late  sun  rays 
beat  pitilessly  down  into  a  dusty  vacant  lot 
only  a  few  streets  away  from  well  set-up  club- 
dom. 

Several  male  specimens  of  weary  human- 
ity draped  themselves  in  corners  as  far  re- 
moved from  each  other  as  possible  in  the  few 
feet  of  shade  afforded  by  a  rickety  board 
fence.  During  the  next  fifteen  minutes  two 
of  these  forlorn  persons  were  to  be  invited  to 
dine,  but  they  were  not  aware  of  it. 

In  fact  had  any  one  had  the  temerity  to 
prophesy  the  invitation  he  would  have  been 
promptly  cursed  into  a  fiery  future. 

To  only  one  of  them  had  a  definite  plan 


IMPULSES  83 

presented  itself  for  the  evening.  It  was  well- 
formed,  and  at  a  chosen  time  was  to  be  carried 
out. 

Weary  and  emaciated,  he  leaned  against 
the  fence  with  closed  eyes,  his  fingers  nerv- 
ously twisting  the  wisps  of  straw  and  other 
bits  of  dry  stuff  surrounding  him.  In  the 
group  he  was  the  most  abject  sample  of  mis- 
ery, yet  a  certain  air  of  gentility  distinguished 
him  from  the  others — something  which 
marked  him  to  be  let  alone  when  a  sympa- 
thetic unity  drew  the  rest  together  for  a  dis- 
cussion of  their  rights  and  wrongs. 

Every  now  and  then  the  man  glanced  up 
at  the  sun,  and  at  the  slowly  lengthening 
shadows.  Once  he  drew  a  small,  black  phial 
from  his  pocket  and  fingered  it  without  look- 
ing at  it.  He  had  carried  it  about  with  him 
for  a  long,  long  time.  He  knew  quite  well 
what  it  looked  like,  but  he  wanted  to  make 
sure  it  was  there,  ready  to  lend  its  aid  when 
he  needed  it.  It  had  lain  in  his  pocket,  burn- 
ing— calling, — and  on  three  separate  occa- 
sions he  had  nearly  yielded  to  its  insistence, 
yet  each  time  he  had  resisted.  A  sense  of  re- 
pugnance and  rebellion  over  acknowledged 
defeat,  bade  him  cling  to  life.  But  now  he 
was  ready  to  declare  himself  beaten.  He 
found  himself  one  of  those  at  whom  he  had 


34  IMPULSES 

often  jeered :  one  of  the  great  army  of  "Down- 
and-Outs." 

He  replaced  the  phial  carefully.  It  was 
too  early  yet  for  his  purpose ;  he  was  waiting 
for  a  signal.  When  a  certain  whistle  sounded 
the  siren  call  which  ordered  the  laborer  to  put 
up  his  kit  for  the  day,  he  intended  to  quit 
work  himself — to  leave  off  this  weary  job  of 
living.  Shifting  his  limbs,  he  dozed  a  little. 

He  was  aroused  by  the  sound  of  two  voices 
on  the  sidewalk  slightly  above  him  and  just 
outside  the  fence. 

"We'll  find  four  or  five  in  here/'  declared 
one.  "You  can  bet  your  life,  Dan,  this  is  the 
headquarters  of  the  *Down-and-Out'  Club." 

"All  right,  Sandy,  sail  in  and  pick  your 
man.  Of  course  you  get  first  choice  for  the 
guest  of  honor,"  replied  the  other. 

With  the  pleasant  sense  of  sharing  a  rare 
treat  with  a  favorite  pal,  Sandy  applied  his 
eye  to  a  convenient  knot-hole. 

"I  can  spot  four  over  there  in  the  opposite 
corner,"  he  whispered  excitedly.  "Great 
luck!" 

"Say,  won't  they  murder  you  if  you  don't 
invite  them  all?"  quavered  Dan,  visibly  weak- 
ening now  that  the  crucial  moment  had  ar- 
rived. That  morning  among  a  joshing  crowd 
of  fellows  at  the  Club  it  had  appeared  an  easy 


IMPULSES  35 

and  highly  witty  thing  to  do,  airily  to  issue  an 
invitation  for  dinner,  but  Dan  now  found 
himself  mentally  selecting  the  smallest  hobo 
in  the  group  when  Sandy  thoughtfully  loaned 
him  the  use  of  the  knot-hole  for  a  few  min- 
utes, wondering  how  he  could  separate  the 
chosen  one  from  the  others  without  dissension 
and  possible  assault. 

Such  vain  forebodings  had  no  place  in 
Sandy's  make-up.  "Get  a  hunch  on,"  he 
urged.  "It's  late,  mon." 

Advancing  a  few  steps  to  where  several 
loose  boards  in  the  fence  made  a  convenient 
entrance,  Sandy  leaped  confidently  down  into 
the  dust,  intending  to  choose  his  man  during 
a  hurried,  though  careful  trip  across  the  in- 
tervening space.  He  took  only  three  steps, 
however,  for  there  at  his  feet  lay  his  guest. 
There  was  no  doubt  about  it.  The  slanting 
sun  rays  caught  him  full  in  the  eyes  and  he 
almost  fell  across  the  man.  Something  held 
him  there  as  he  looked  down  at  the  heap  of 
dingy  clothes.  He  opened  his  mouth,  and  the 
words  came  forth  not  at  all  as  he  had  planned. 

"Hello,  you  lazy  gink !  What  are  you  do- 
ing in  my  way?" 

The  man  opened  his  eyes  and  gazed 
straight  up  at  Sandy.  There  was  a  half-min- 
ute's silence  between  them;  then  it  was 


36  IMPULSES 

broken  by  the  first  discordant  sounds  of  the 
city  whistles,  gradually  growing  louder  and 
more  uniform,  as  one  after  another  from  dif- 
ferent parts  of  town  they  joined  in  the  an- 
nouncement that  the  day's  work  was  done. 
The  tramp  fumbled  vaguely  in  his  pocket, 
then  resentfully  withdrew  an  empty  hand. 

"Hello!  How  are  you?"  pursued  Sandy 
more  genially. 

An  unintelligible  murmur  was  all  the  re- 
sponse he  received,  but  the  tramp  slowly 
struggled  to  his  feet  and  gazed  menacingly  at 
the  two  men  confronting  him,  Dan  by  this 
time  having  carefully  insinuated  himself  be- 
tween the  loose  boards  and  landed  in  the  dust 
heap  beside  his  valiant  leader. 

Sandy,  with  a  sudden  recurrence  to  his 
plan  of  action  conceived  on  the  previous  after- 
noon, crooked  a  forefinger  in  the  dazed,  dusty 
face,  and  smiled. 

"Come  along  with  me !  You're  invited  to 
dinner  at  the  Club.  Excuse  a  late  invita- 
tion!" 

"Huh?"  questioned  the  man,  not  showing 
a  trace  of  either  joy  or  gratitude.  -  After  all, 
hoboes  were  complicated  individuals,  not 
wholly  composed  of  hunger,  thirst  and  thiev- 
ery. Sandy  forthwith  hurled  himself  into  a 
sea  of  explanations.  Meantime  a  short,  wiry 


IMPULSES  37 

person  with  a  swarthy,  lowering  cast  of  coun- 
tenance, separated  himself  from  the  group  of 
four  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  lot,  and  ap- 
proached warily  to  see  "what  was  doing." 

Dan  seized  opportunity  as  it  came  near. 
"Here's  mine !"  he  joyfully  announced,  spring- 
ing toward  the  astonished  tramp  with  such 
celerity  that  the  latter  retreated  in  alarm  with 
disturbing  visions  of  hand-cuffs.  He  stopped, 
however,  when  confronted  by  Dan's  cheerful 
countenance,  and  in  response  to  the  query 
whether  he  had  anything  to  do  that  evening, 
replied : 

"Not  a  damma  t'ing,"  in  a  soft  Italian 
voice  which  knocked  Dan  "dippy,"  as  he  aft- 
erward explained. 

In  genial  conversation  they  returned  to 
Sandy  and  his  chosen  guest,  where  the  situa- 
tion had  little  changed. 

"What's  yer  little  game,  mister?"  the 
tramp  muttered,  his  suspicious  eyes  shifting 
from  one  to  the  other  of  the  three,  then  focus- 
ing upon  the  other  end  of  the  lot.  The  others 
followed  his  gaze,  and  beheld  three  ragged  fig- 
ures disappearing  one  by  one  over  the  back 
fence.  Assailed  by  fears  of  arrest  they  van- 
ished into  the  lengthening,  western  shadows. 

The  tramp's  gaze  shifted  back  again  to 


38  IMPULSES 

Sandy's  frank  countenance.  Then  the  Italian 
chipped  in. 

"Say,  ole  pal,  wot  yer  waitin'  fer?  De 
game's  alia  de  right,  see?" 

The  steady  flow  of  Sandy's  explanations, 
coupled  with  his  convincing  manner,  was 
slowly  taking  effect.  Also  there  was  some 
mysterious  influence  at  work  between  them 
which  neither  could  understand.  The  tramp 
straightened  his  emaciated  form  and  with- 
drew his  hand  from  his  pocket  where  it  was 
again  fumbling.  The  many-toned  whistles 
had  sounded  their  last  call  for  the  day.  With 
a  twist  of  his  broad  shoulders  he  shook  him- 
self free  from  something  well-nigh  overmas- 
tering, and  turned  his  weary  footsteps  into 
this  new  pathway  presented  by  Sandy. 

"All  right,  mister ;  go  ahead,"  he  assented 
less  gruffly.  "It's  a  queer  game  ye're  playing, 
but  I  guess  ye're  playing  it  straight." 

A  strange  quartette  left  the  vacant  lot.  It 
required  some  nonchalance  and  a  fair  amount 
of  courage  to  accomplish  the  passage  along 
five  blocks  of  crowded  city  streets.  An  alert, 
slight  figure  led  the  way.  A  step  or  two  be- 
hind him  followed  the  "guest  of  honor,"  heav- 
ily dragging  one  foot  after  the  other  in  his  re- 
luctant return  to  life. 

Dan,  well-groomed,  and  with  the  virtuous 


IMPULSES  39 

air  produced  by  a  month  on  "the  water- 
wagon/'  advised  his  tricky-looking  companion 
as  to  the  evening's  program.  He  dwelt  at 
length  upon  the  nobility  of  Sandy's  scheme. 
To  him  was  conceded  the  palm  of  having 
planned  this  affair  where  all  might  meet  as 
brothers.  It  is  doubtful  just  how  much  the 
Italian  understood.  He  had  but  lately  ar- 
rived from  his  native  shores,  but  he  assented 
to  all  assurances  with  eager  professions  of 
brotherly  love,  his  beady  eyes,  meanwhile 
alert  to  the  possible  value  of  Dan's  watch  fob. 

Arrived  at  the  Club  entrance  they  found  a 
motley  assemblage  waiting  for  the  elevator. 
Four  other  members  had  rounded  up  their 
men  and  were  proudly  conducting  them,  in 
varying  degrees  of  doubt,  to  their  destination. 

There  appeared  a  decided  lack  of  that 
clannishness  usually  attributed  to  the  wan- 
dering class.  Each  tramp  ignored  his  fellows 
and  sedulously  attached  himself  to  his  own 
personal  conductor.  The  alert  little  Italian 
was  the  sole  exception.  He  adopted  a  frater- 
nal spirit,  but  it  was  received  with  marked 
disfavor  by  the  other  five.  A  sturdy  Swede, 
Carlton's  particular  "find,"  regarded  him 
with  especial  distrust,  making  it  evident  to 
their  hosts  that  a  diplomatic  distance  between 
the  two  should  be  preserved. 


40  IMPULSES 

Upstairs  they  gathered  in  groups,  and  by 
twos  and  fours,  until  the  fifteen  clubmen  who 
had  fallen  under  the  spell  of  Sandy's  sugges- 
tion had  safely  housed  their  guests.  Then  be- 
gan a  scene  of  turmoil  not  soon  forgotten  by 
the  participants. 

An  announcement  on  the  blackboard  early 
that  morning  of  the  forthcoming  event  had 
nearly  caused  a  riot  among  conservative,  com- 
fort-loving members,  but  that  was  nothing 
compared  to  the  excitement  which  now  pre- 
vailed. 

All  looked  to  their  leader  for  guidance.  He 
had  never  failed  them  before,  he  did  not  now. 
He  issued  commands  right  and  left,  in  brief 
and  often  picturesque  language,  well-attuned 
to  hobo  comprehension.  Sandy  had  spent  sev- 
eral early  years  in  frontier  towns  himself,  and 
his  ears  had  always  been  wide  open. 

Enthusiasm  which  at  noon  had  been  based 
only  upon  theory  now  burst  into  the  fullness 
of  reality.  All  over  the  bedroom  section 
bathtubs  were  heard  filling,  and  new  plans 
sprung  into  being  from  minute  to  minute.  The 
next  logical  step  from  baths  being  fresh  cloth- 
ing, a  wholesale  turning  out  of  closets  and  bu- 
reau drawers  began.  In  half  an  hour  an  im- 
promptu Misfit  Parlor  was  doing  a  lively  bus- 
iness. As  in  all  great  undertakings,  new  com- 


IMPULSES  41 

plications  confronted  the  distracted  leader  at 
each  step.  His  own  guest  towered  above  him 
a  good  six  inches,  while  the  wiry  little  Italian 
could  have  wrapped  Dan's  capacious  gar- 
ments twice  around  his  person.  Hence  a  gen- 
eral exchange  of  guests,  solely  in  the  matter 
of  clothing,  took  place,  each  member  in  all 
other  matters  being  responsible  for  his  own 
"find." 

Sandy  found  himself  beset  on  every 
side  with  questions,  and  bits  of  information 
concerning  individual  plans  which  were  not 
working  out  according  to  expectations.  For 
instance,  "that  idiot,  Wright,"  in  a  true 
spirit  of  hospitality,  had  treated  his  guest,  on 
entering,  at  the  Club  bar.  Result:  a  deep 
sense  of  injury  apparent  among  half-a-dozen 
other  guests,  and  several  private  libations. 
While  their  trusting  hosts  left  them  alone 
with  their  bath  water  and  borrowed  clothing, 
two  thirsty  hoboes  devoted  the  time  which 
should  have  been  given  to  these  chastening  in- 
fluences to  the  more  certain  enjoyment  of  the 
contents  of  short,  thick-necked  bottles  con- 
cealed upon  their  persons.  When  discovered 
half  an  hour  later  they  were  sleeping  soundly, 
the  bath  water  still  flowing,  and  no  human  ef- 
forts at  that  moment  could  arouse  them.  In- 
cidentally some  of  the  surplus  water  found 


42  IMPULSES 

its  way  into  the  library  below,  and  eventually 
created  a  musty,  moire  effect,  usually  a  fea- 
ture of  antique  editions,  upon  various  cloth 
and  leather  bindings.  The  time  spent  in  mop- 
ping up  consumed  most  of  the  dinner  hour  for 
the  two  members  responsible,  but  no  one 
missed  them  in  the  general  melee.  Keys  were 
turned  upon  the  sleeping  delinquents  and  two 
vacant  chairs  among  the  hoboes  marked  their 
absence  from  the  feast. 

During  the  trying  on  of  clothes  the  big 
Swede  ran  against  the  little  Italian. 

"Ah  lak  you  kip  ouda  mah  way,  you  damn 
t'ief!"  growled  the  Swede  in  the  other's 
swarthy  ear. 

An  eloquent  stream  of  choice  Italian  ex- 
pletives flowed  from  the  latter's  lips  which  so 
enraged  the  Swede  as  they  struck  his  uncom- 
prehending ear  that  his  great  hand  reached 
out  and  grasped  the  other's  coat  collar.  More 
correctly  speaking  it  was  a  navy  blue  serge 
coat  of  Sandy's  that  moment  transferred  to 
the  Italian's  back.  But  the  latter  was  too 
agile  for  the  Swede.  Twisting  himself  free  of 
the  sleeves  with  a  quick,  backward  movement 
of  the  arms  and  grabbing  his  old  coat  from  the 
floor  as  he  ran,  the  Italian  fled  down  the  hall, 
the  big  man  in  hot  pursuit. 

The  unanimous  impulse  was  to  stop  the 


IMPULSES  43 

Swede.  It  was  like  preventing  the  proverbial 
angry  bull  from  damaging  a  china  shop.  No 
one  thought  to  stop  the  Italian.  He  sped 
down  the  little-used  stairway,  and  far  up  the 
street. 

Six  blocks  away  he  stopped  and  drew 
breath,  looking  furtively  behind  him.  Few 
pedestrians  were  in  sight,  none  showed  the 
slightest  interest  in  him.  He  felt  joyously  in 
two  bulging  hip  pockets,  and  chuckled  in  low, 
sweet  Italian  tones.  Turning  a  corner  he 
passed  on  more  slowly  and  was  lost  once  again 
in  the  realms  of  the  submerged  brotherhood. 

Meanwhile  three  of  the  huskiest  club  mem- 
bers wrestled  with  the  big  Swede.  Sandy's 
hands  itched  to  get  at  him,  but  he  restrained 
his  pugilistic  desires  and  inquired  discreetly 
what  all  the  row  was  about.  The  pertinence 
of  this  simple  question  appealed  to  all  bystand- 
ers. Gradually,  limb  by  limb,  the  Swede  was 
released  and  allowed  to  explain.  Only  a  linguis- 
tic scholar  could  have  disentangled  the  furious 
medley  of  words,  but  certain  expressions  re- 
curred with  alarming  frequency. 

"Tief!  —  Damn  t'ief!  — Doin'  tahme.— 
Call  poleese  mahne!" — in  time  became  con- 
vincing. 

"He  recognizes  the  Italian  as  a  thief,  boys. 
That's  what's  the  matter,  he's  been  'doing 


44  IMPULSES 

time!'  Suffering  cats,  I  wonder  how  much 
he's  done  us  for !" 

Carlton  clapped  his  hand  on  his  hip  pocket. 
It  was  empty.  While  he,  the  most  genial  of 
"fitters,"  in  his  shirt  sleeves,  had  pronounced 
Sandy's  coat  just  the  thing  for  the  Italian,  the 
latter  had  chosen  that  moment  to  appropriate 
Carlton's  neat  little  revolver.  His  sapphire 
scarf-pin  was  also  missing. 

Dan,  to  whose  door  would  roll  the  blame 
for  his  unwise  choice  of  a  guest,  in  perturbed 
moments  habitually  fingered  his  watch  fob. 
He  sought  its  consolation  now.  It  was  not 
there.  His  watch  was  also  absent.  Words 
failed  him ;  he  started  down  the  hall. 

"Stop  him,  boys!"  shouted  Sandy.  "He's 
desperate.  Lock  the  bar-room  door!" 

"Let  me  go!"  yelled  Dan.  "Damn  the 
bar!  I'm  off  to  catch  that  little  dago  thief." 

"I'm  with  you !"  shouted  Carlton,  and  to- 
they  bolted  to  the  elevator,  and  from 
out  on  a  fruitless  search  into  the  night. 

All  this  and  many  similar  matters  had  oc- 
cupied much  of  Sandy's  attention.  Neces- 
sarily his  own  guest,  who  proved  quiet  and 
tractable,  was  left  to  himself.  When  Sandy 
had  taken  him  to  his  room,  the  man  had  stood 
gazing  about,  first  at  the  photographs  and 
other  pictures,  books  and  many  keepsakes, 


IMPULSES  45 

then  back  again  at  Sandy,  with  disturbed 
curiosity  growing  in  his  hungry  eyes. 

"What's  the  matter?"  asked  Sandy  with 
abrupt  kindliness. 

"Oh,  nothing!  Only  this  is  the  first  time 
anything  like  this  ever  happened  to  me.  Am 
I  dreaming,  mister,  or  what?" 

"Call  it  'what/  if  you  like,"  responded 
Sandy;  "but  you'll  find  it  a  bit  real  before  you 
get  through." 

The  tramp  came  and  stood  very  close  to 
him,  looking  down  with  deeply  penetrating 
eyes. 

"What  are  you  doing  it  for?"  he  demand- 
ed. "Are  you  one  of  those  reform  chaps?" 

"Good  Lord,  no!"  exclaimed  Sandy  with 
impious  horror.  "I  detest  reform." 

"So  do  I,"  said  the  tramp  sullenly.  "I'd 
have  been  a  man  long  ago  if  a  lot  of  blooming 
relatives  hadn't  started  in  to  reform  me." 

Inadvertently  he  had  hit  upon  Sandy's  es- 
pecial "bete-noire." 

"To  hell  with  relatives !"  quoth  Sandy  with 
cheerful  hospitality.  "I  never  let  them  bother 
me.  Indeed  a  man's  much  better  without 
any!" 

The  tramp  regarded  Sandy  with  growing 
intensity.  "You're  not  like  the  others,"  he 
said  slowly.  "You  talk  different." 


46  IMPULSES 

"How  'different?' " 

"There's  a  bit  of  the  old  country  in  your 
speech." 

"You're  away  off,  I'm  an  American,"  pro- 
tested Sandy.  "Look  here,  I  haven't  time  to 
discuss  nationalities.  You  just  get  busy."  He 
threw  open  the  door  of  his  bath-room.  "Tum- 
ble in  and  make  yourself  at  home  while  I  chase 
up  a  change  for  you.  You're  hardly  my  size, 
you  know."  Then  he  hurried  off  into  the  con- 
fusion reigning  in  the  hall. 

Left  alone,  the  tramp  went  slowly  from 
one  object  to  another,  surveying  each  with 
careful  scrutiny.  Some  seemed  to  confirm  a 
suspicion  growing  in  his  mind,  others  gave 
him  no  clue. 

He  refrained  from  fingering  the  books  in 
his  present  grimy  state,  yet  he  longed  to  do 
so.  The  flyleaf  of  any  one  of  them  might  at 
once  show  him  what  he  sought.  At  last  his 
roving  gaze  came  to  a  small,  framed  photo- 
graph hanging  near  the  bureau.  He  turned 
on  the  electric  bulb  next  it  and  scrutinized  the 
picture,  his  haggard  face  growing  whiter  as 
he  gazed.  It  was  only  the  likeness  of  a  plain 
little  lady  with  a  sweet  face. 

She  was  dressed  in  old-fashioned  clothes, 
perhaps  those  of  fifteen  years  before.  The 
picture  was  the  duplicate  of  one  the  tramp 


IMPULSES  47 

had  once  carried  among  his  personal  belong- 
ings. Now  he  packed  nothing  with  him — it 
was  so  much  easier  to  travel  light ! 

The  face  of  the  little  lady  showed  a  re- 
semblance to  the  man  who  had  brought  him 
here.  The  tramp  clenched  his  hands,  and 
stood  a  long  time  in  front  of  the  picture. 

"It's  him/'  he  muttered;  "it's  him,  sure!" 

He  sank  down  in  a  Morris  chair  beside  the 

table,  all  thoughts  of  the  present  blotted  out 

by  the  memories  of  twenty  years  crowding  in 

upon  him. 

It  was  as  though  he  had  drunk  the  con- 
tents of  the  little  black  phial,  and  was  facing 
the  last  moments  of  his  life.  A  multitude  of 
incidents  flashed  before  his  mental  vision,  and 
resentment  took  possession  of  him. 

Why  had  Sandy  stumbled  over  him  and  in- 
terfered with  his  plan  just  at  the  moment 
when  he  was  waiting  for  the  signal?  What 
was  this  fool  game  which  he  and  all  those 
other  men  were  playing  anyway?  Rebellious- 
ly  the  demon  in  him  wrestled  with  his  better 
nature.  What  was  there  to  prevent  his  using 
the  little  phial  now?  This  was  as  good  a  place 
as  any.  Better,  perhaps — it  would  show  all 
those  fellows — ! 

Then  came  the  restraining  thought  of  the 


48  IMPULSES 

apparent  genuineness  of  the  affair.  His  stu- 
por lightened.  He  shook  himself  and  looked 
about  again. 

After  all,  he  had  some  sense  of  decency 
left,  and  he  had  no  desire  to  pose  in  the  lime- 
light. The  passing  out  of  a  nameless  vagrant 
in  a  vacant  lot  implicated  no  one;  here  it 
would  be  different.  Then,  over  there  was  that 
little  lady's  face  looking  at  him.  He  could  not 
get  away  from  it.  Neither  could  he  get  away 
from  the  undefinable  "something  different" 
in  Sandy's  speech.  He  rose  again  and  went 
toward  the  picture.  Damn  this  world  and  its 
contradictions ! 

"Well,  all  right,  then !"  he  said  impatient- 
ly, and  drawing  the  phial  from  his  pocket  was 
about  to  smash  it  on  the  first  convenient  sur- 
face, then  checking  the  impulse  he  tucked  it 
away  behind  a  box  on  the  bureau.  There  was 
no  time  for  explanations  just  now.  They 
would  come  later — perhaps — unless  he  de- 
cided to  light  out  again. 

He  heard  Sandy's  step  outside,  his  voice 
calling  back  to  someone,  his  hand  on  the  door- 
knob. Quickly  stepping  into  the  bath-room 
the  tramp  closed  the  door  and  turned  on  the 
water-faucet. 

When  Sandy  entered  the  room,  a  pile  of 
clothing  on  his  arm,  his  guest  was  apparently 


IMPULSES  49 

carrying  out  the  preliminaries  of  the  even- 
ing's program  in  a  satisfactory  manner. 
Sandy  banged  on  the  bath-room  door. 

"Hello!  I've  got  you  fitted  all  right,  I 
think.  Dinner  will  be  ready  in  half  an  hour. 
Want  a  shave?" 

The  bath-room  door  opened  a  crack.  "I 
suppose  I'd  better  go  the  whole  game,"  replied 
the  tramp's  voice  unsteadily.  "I'll  be  out  of 
here  in  ten  minutes." 

Sandy  dropped  the  bunch  of  clothing  on 
the  bed  and  went  reflectively  to  the  bureau. 
The  shave  suggestion  had  slipped  out  unex- 
pectedly. Should  he  risk  his  razor  in  the 
hands  of  a  strange  man?  Oh,  well,  what  was 
the  diff.?  By  the  way,  where  was  his  razor? 
Pushing  the  articles  about  on  his  bureau  in 
his  impetuous  search,  he  toppled  the  little 
black  phial  over  into  view.  Sandy  picked  it 
up  and  examined  it  curiously  under  the  elec- 
tric light  which  he  now  remembered  he  had 
not  turned  on  himself. 

Laudanum!  What  was  it  doing  here  on 
his  bureau?  His  tramp  had  brought  it  in,  of 
course.  Why,  the  devil,  hadn't  he  ordered  all 
these  fellows  searched  before  they  came  in! 
Suppose  a  revolution  took  place  and  all  the 
unsuspecting  hosts  were  murdered  in  various 
choice  ways ! 


60  IMPULSES 

Sandy's  eyes  glittered  excitedly.  He 
rather  liked  the  idea.  It  would  stir  things  up 
a  bit,  and  be  a  fine  ad.  for  the  Club.  He  care- 
fully pocketed  the  phial,  however. 

"We  won't  have  the  poisoning  until  after 
dinner  anyway,  my  fine  gink!"  he  thought. 
Then  the  razor  turning  up  he  made  a  few 
preparations  and  left  the  room.  The  phial  in 
his  pocket  was  not  comfortable;  it  disturbed 
him. 

What  should  he  do  with  the  damned  thing? 
If  only  he  had  a  chosen  enemy  there  confront- 
ing him  he  would  ram  it  down  his  throat! 
Sandy  had  a  variety  of  mental  methods  for 
uniquely  destroying  his  enemies.  Swiftly  fol- 
lowing this  thought  came  another  coupled 
with  a  vision  of  two  serious  eyes  set  in  a  be- 
loved face.  A  certain  blue-eyed  lady  who 
sometimes  honored  the  Club  with  her  presence 
was  never  far  from  his  thoughts  at  any  time. 
On  occasions  such  as  this  she  had  a  way  of  in- 
sinuating herself  between  his  choicest  plans 
and  their  accomplishment.  The  eyes  could 
laugh  approval;  just  now  they  were  reproach- 
ful— he  almost  heard  her  voice  saying — . 

He  looked  hurriedly  about.  A  hall  win- 
dow opening  on  a  light-well  caught  his  eye. 
With  more  cheerful  thoughts  concerning  his 
enemies  running  a  merry  chase  through  his 


IMPULSES  51 

mind,  he  opened  the  window  and  dropped  the 
phial.  Leaning  out  he  saw  it  smash  on  the 
pavement  five  stories  below. 

"So  much  for  that!"  he  nodded  conclusive- 
ly, and  continued  on  his  way,  undisturbed,  to 
the  dining-room  where  some  final  details 
awaited  his  attention. 

Shortly  after  seven  o'clock  the  dinner,  now 
famous  in  club  annals,  was  fully  under  way. 
The  tables  were  arranged,  banquet-fashion,  in 
two  long  rows,  with  a  speaker's  table  running 
crosswise  at  one  end.  The  decorations  were 
simple  and  to  the  point.  Small  silk  flags  of 
many  nations  alternated  with  bunches  of 
dried  grasses  at  intervals  down  the  center  of 
each  long  white  cloth,  and  at  every  place  was 
laid  a  corncob  pipe  with  the  necessary  filling. 

Sandy,  under  a  multiplicity  of  titles,  as 
leader  of  the  feast,  naturally  occupied  the  cen- 
tral seat  of  honor,  and  up  and  down  the  lines 
club  members  and  guests  were  alternately 
ranged.  At  Sandy's  right  hand  sat  a  man  at 
whom  general  attention  and  curiosity  were 
directed.  Each  member  had  been  more  or  less 
absorbed,  up  to  the  present,  in  his  own  hobo. 
Few  had  been  serenely  manageable.  Only  the 
members  who  had  entered  with  Sandy  had 
any  remembrance  of  what  his  tramp  had  been 
like.  Now  the  universal  impression  was  that 


52  IMPULSES 

Sandy  had  fooled  them.  There  was  certainly 
nothing  of  the  "hobo"  about  the  man  who  oc- 
cupied the  "guest  of  honor's"  seat.  A  bath,  a 
shave,  and  a  good,  well-brushed  suit  of  Dan's 
were  not  the  only  factors  in  making  the  differ- 
ence apparent  between  him  and  the  other 
guests.  There  was  something  else,  difficult  of 
definition,  which  made  him  one  with  the  best 
of  his  hosts.  Sandy  observed  him  with  ever- 
increasing  wonder.  On  the  tramp's  side  all 
curiosity  had  subsided.  He  seemed  sure  of 
his  ground,  and  in  some  inscrutable  way,  in- 
stead of  Sandy's  taking  his  hobo  in  tow  and 
managing  him  according  to  preconceived 
methods,  the  former  found  himself  deferring 
to  and  being  influenced  by  a  guest  on  his  own 
level. 

It  was  discovered  that  the  man  had  trav- 
eled widely.  There  were  not  many  occupa- 
tions he  had  not  tried ;  not  many  countries  he 
had  not  visited. 

He  talked  well,  though  spasmodically. 
Plainly  he  was  exhausted  and  out  of  health. 
A  general  forced  hilarity  at  the  commence- 
ment of  dinner  soon  became  genuine  as  good 
food  and  fellowship  warmed  the  inner  man. 

The  tongues  of  many  nations  were  loosed, 
and  a  curious  lingo  swung  up  and  down  the 
tables.  "Dutch"  and  "Dago"  predominated, 


IMPULSES 


53 


with  American  slang  a  dose  second  In  a  few 
quarters  correct  English  was  attempted  bat  it 
was  quickly  frowned  down  and  booted  out  by 
dob  men.  Sandy's  man  dropped  fruui  one 
lingo  into  ajx)ther  with  sraprising  facility.  He 
ate  with  bis  knife  and  fork  as  thoagji  be 


54  IMPULSES 

The  sense  of  peace  attending  this  occupa- 
tion was  rudely  disturbed  by  the  tempestuous 
return  of  Dan  and  Carlton.  Utterly  frustrat- 
ed in  their  search  for  stolen  goods  by  the  elu- 
sive Italian,  they  returned  to  vent  their  wrath 
in  the  bosom  of  their  club  home,  only  to  find 
popular  attention  directed  elsewhere.  A  su- 
premely satisfied,  after-dinner  attitude  pre- 
vailed, and  no  one  expressed  much  sympathy 
for  the  loss  of  a  revolver  and  a  few  bits  of 
jewelry.  When  it  was  learned  that  notice  of 
the  theft  had  been  given  at  police  headquar- 
ters after  the  two  men  had  followed  several 
wrong  clues  over  many  miles,  the  mild  curios- 
ity of  everyone  was  fully  appeased. 

"All  right,  you  fellows;  now  dry  up !"  com- 
manded Sandy,  and  the  attention  of  the  com- 
pany, with  one  accord,  veered  toward  their 
leader.  What  was  to  come  next?  Sandy 
would  know.  Apparently  something  was  ex- 
pected of  him.  He  laid  aside  his  corncob  and 
rose  to  the  occasion.  Chairs  shifted  and 
scraped.  Numerous  mutterings  were  heard. 

"Go  to  it,  old  man!"— "Want  an  inter- 
preter?"—"Talk  Esperanto."— "Hear,  hear!" 
— were  a  few  of  the  many  admonitions  to 
which  Sandy  lent  an  unperturbed  ear. 

"Gentlemen,"  he  began,  then  stopped  and 
cleared  his  throat,  running  his  gaze  swiftly 


IMPULSES  55 

along  the  rows  of  expectant  faces.  "No,  I 
take  that  back.  I  give  you  a  better  title — 
Tramps!" 

Several  hoboes  frowned  and  clenched  their 
fists,  but  the  majority  smiled  in  lazy  good 
humor. 

"For  what  are  we  all  but  tramps  along  the 
road  of  life?"  asked  Sandy.  "Some  walk  a 
little  faster  than  others,  that's  all.  Now  my 
purpose  is  not  to  make  a  speech.  Speech-mak- 
ing is  a  pernicious  habit  indulged  in  by  gentle- 
men and  politicians,  and  should  be  counted  a 
capital  offence.  I  therefore  propose  to  spend 
the  time  otherwise  devoted  to  speech-making 
in  a  general  swapping  of  experiences.  Start 
the  ball  rolling,  Dan.  Tell  us  about  that 
tramp  of  yours  through  the  Bingo  Moun- 
tains." 

Thus  adjured,  Dan  launched  forth  into  a 
thrilling  narration  of  personal  adventures 
embellished  here  and  there  with  highly  ornate 
bits  of  fiction.  Numerous  other  discourses  by 
tramps  real  and  impersonated  followed  this, 
until  excitement  waxed  high,  and  experience- 
swapping  threatened  to  become  Bedlam. 

Sandy's  guest  remained  extremely  quiet. 
He  puffed  at  his  pipe,  lost  apparently  in  medi- 
tation, yet  Sandy  felt  his  keen  attentiveness 


56  IMPULSES 

through  all  the  clamor  of  tongues,  and  finally, 
meeting  his  glance,  his  hobo  said  quietly : 

"I'll  give  them  a  bit  of  my  experience."  He 
rose  to  his  feet.  He  looked  out  over  the  crowd, 
and  magically  it  came  to  order  held  by  curi- 
osity concerning  the  strange  man. 

"Fellow-Tramps,"  he  began,  "you  have  all 
been  jesting  here  about  life.  You  have  relat- 
ed thrilling  adventures  in  which  you  have 
tossed  your  lives  about  in  every  sort  of  haz- 
ard, and  what  you  call  good  luck  has  pulled 
you  through  every  time.  You  depended  on 
chance,  every  one  of  you,  but  some  day  it  will 
fail  you.  Now  I  have  always  believed  in  luck, 
too.  You've  none  of  you  spoken  of  the  many 
fights  you  must  have  had  with  death.  You 
have  all  talked  only  of  life,  and  your  own  clev- 
erness in  outwitting  circumstances,  or  your 
neighbors.  Now  I  am  going  to  tell  you  about 
some  of  my  own  escapes  from  death." 

He  went  on,  his  voice  growing  stronger  as 
he  talked.  He  told  of  a  rescue  from  ship- 
wreck— he  related  incidents  in  a  starvation 
fight  on  the  desert — he  dwelt  upon  a  desperate 
struggle  with  Indians  in  a  border  town.  "But 
these  fights,"  he  continued,  "were  as  nothing 
compared  to  the  constant  warfare  some  of  us 
wage  against  the  death  of  our  own  souls.  Fel- 
low-Tramps," he  looked  from  one  to  another 


IMPULSES  57 

of  the  transfixed  club  members,  he  was  talk- 
ing over  the  heads  of  the  real  tramps;  "we 
don't  always  know  what  we  are  doing  when 
we  talk  about  'luck/  and  'chance/  When  you 
planned  this  dinner  you  did  it  for  a  good  bit 
of  fun  for  yourselves.  You  didn't  know  what 
you  were  doing  any  more  than  I  knew  that  I 
should  be  standing  here  in  decent  clothes  talk- 
ing to  you."  He  hesitated.  "I'm  getting 
away  off  my  subject,  and  will  soon  be  laying 
myself  open  to  conviction  for  a  'capital  of- 
fence !' '  A  quizzical  glance  at  Sandy  pointed 
this  last  sentence,  and  drew  a  quick:  "Hear! 
Hear!"  from  that  individual.  The  strange 
guest  continued : 

"It's  too  big  a  subject,  that  soul-fight  I 
spoke  of.  I  want  only  to  tell  you  of  my  last 
one  in  which  'luck'  interfered.  Perhaps  many 
of  you  did  not  hear  the  city  whistles  this  after- 
noon. Only  those  who  are  vitally  interested 
hear  them  as  a  rule."  The  man's  voice  grew 
husky,  unsteady.  He  turned  and  fixed  his 
gaze  upon  Sandy.  "I  heard  them.  I  was 
waiting  for  them — so  were  thousands  of  oth- 
ers. But  I  wonder  how  many  of  those  who 
waited  were  intending  to  quit  work  for  good 
when  the  signal  sounded !" 

One  nervous  hand  clutched  the  back  of  his 


58  IMPULSES 

chair,  his  voice  grew  more  unsteady.  Sandy 
watched  him  with  increasing  wonder  and  fas- 
cination, vague  premonitions  of  something 
strange,  yet  familiar. 

"Three  times  before  I've  tried  to  quit  this 
job  of  living,"  continued  the  faltering  voice. 
"But  each  time  I  was  too  big  a  coward.  To- 
day my  mind  was  made  up.  I  was  waiting  for 
the  signal. — Only  one-half  minute  was  left  for 
your  'luck'  to  work  in.  What  happened? — 
This — this  man  you  call  'Sandy'  stumbled, 
yes,  literally  stumbled  over  me,  and — and — 
told  me  to  'come  along  with  him !'  That  I  was 
'iivited  to  dinner.'  That's  all,  Fellow- 
Tramps — you  talk  about  your  'luck,'  and 
make  game  of  it,  but  I — tell — you — " 

His  voice  broke  completely,  and  Sandy,  ab- 
horrent of  a  "scene,"  rose  hurriedly. 

The  stranger  rallied  again.  "I'll  go  up- 
stairs now — if — " 

"Of  course!  Come  right  along!"  exclaimed 
Sandy,  in  haste  to  break  the  breathless  spell 
which  had  fallen  over  the  assemblage. 

As  the  two  left  the  room  a  clatter  of 
tongues  burst  forth,  and  countless  surmises, 
suggestions,  and  questions  were  promulgated, 
ready  to  spring  upon  the  luckless  Sandy  when 
he  should  return;  but  that  perturbed  person 
did  not  soon  come  back. 


IMPULSES  59 

In  the  bedroom  his  guest  sat  for  several 
minutes  in  the  Morris  chair.  He  refused  the 
offer  of  whiskey,  or  any  other  restorative,  and 
lay  back,  white  and  still,  with  closed  eyes. 
Sandy  stood  by,  restless,  desirous  of  doing 
something — any  old  thing! 

A  helpless  feeling,  entirely  foreign  to  his 
usual  confidence,  took  possession  of  him.  He 
knew  how  he  ought  to  feel,  good  Lord,  yes !  It 
was  an  infernal  nuisance,  having  his  hobo  fool 
him  like  this.  He  ought  to  feel  all  cut  up 
about  it  and  curse  him  up  and  down,  but 
somehow,  he  didn't. 

That  was  what  troubled  Sandy.  He  was 
feeling  all  cut  up  but  in  quite  another  way. 
He  was  fighting  against  it.  He  didn't  like  the 
feeling  in  his  throat,  and  a  lot  of  annoying 
emotions  swayed  him. 

His  hobo  opened  his  eyes.  "Forgive  me, 
Sandy,"  he  said,  "for  bringing  a  skeleton  to 
your  feast.  I  couldn't  help  it.  Something 
greater  than  you  and  me  forced  me  on." 

He  rose  and  went  to  the  bureau,  facing  the 
photograph.  The  plain  little  lady  looked  out 
at  him  serenely.  She  seemed  to  smile.  Sandy 
followed,  hypnotized.  He  knew  then  what 
was  coming. 

"If  Mother  could  speak,"  began  the  other, 
"she'd  call  me—" 


60  IMPULSES 

"Donald!"  finished  Sandy. 

"Yes — I'm  Donald. — The  doctors  gave  me 
just  so  long  to  live,  unless  I  could  get  the  right 
climate  and  treatment,  so  I  thought  I'd  better 
quit  before  I  got  too  bad. — I'll  go  away  tomor- 
row, if  you  like.  I'd  be  only  a  trouble  to  you. 
I  mightn't  stay  'reformed'  very  long!"  He 
smiled  wanly.  "I  never  could,  you  know.  No 
doubt  you've  heard  that  from  relatives !" 

Sandy  grasped  his  hobo's  hand.  "To  hell 
with  reform — and  relatives!"  he  cried. 


HIS  FIRST  ABDUCTION 

Affairs  at  the  Burtons'  were  approaching 
a  crisis,  and  Sandy  was  worried.  As  he 
walked  up  the  hill  toward  the  shoddy  apart- 
ment-house which  sheltered  this  so-called 
"family"  of  man,  woman,  and  two  young 
girls,  Sandy  held  himself  a  weak  fool  for  hav- 
ing been  drawn  into  this  nauseating  domestic 
maelstrom. 

There  was  much  about  it  which  he  did  not 
understand.  Surmises  only  created  suspicion 
of  an  ugly  nature.  Sandy's  brain,  accustomed 
to  obey  his  orders,  flew  off  on  a  tangent,  and 
refused  to  look  sanely  at  the  matter. 

It  was  all  Prescott's  fault  anyway.  His 
friend,  Prescott,  had  met  Maylita  Burton  at 
a  cafe  dance  a  short  time  before  his  last  sail- 
ing, and  had  mentioned  her  to  Sandy  as  "a 
promising  kid  who  would  bear  watching;" 
and  that  somebody  should  "give  her  a  tip  to 
cut  out  the  night  life  and  go  back  to  school." 

Then  Prescott  had  gone  about  his  business 
of  officering  his  ship,  leaving  Sandy's  new- 


62  IMPULSES 

born  curiosity  to  feed  upon  nothing  more  sub- 
stantial than  a  few  words  exchanged  with  the 
girl,  following  an  introduction  one  evening, 
and  an  inherent  desire,  fostered  by  years  of 
newspaper  work,  to  follow  up  a  clue. 

Then,  one  day  he  had  passed  Maylita  on 
Powell  street.  She  had  given  him  a  gay  little 
nod  with  all  the  western  assurance  of  seven- 
teen. Her  idiotic  hat,  with  its  downward  tilt 
toward  her  upturned,  freckled  nose,  aided  the 
nod.  Since  then  the  acquaintance  had  passed 
through  several  gradations.  Now  he  was  on 
his  way  up  the  hill,  a  book  under  his  arm,  car- 
rying culture  to  Maylita. 

"Lucky  kid,  she  hasn't  been  much  to 
school !"  he  mused,  nursing  his  old-time  preju- 
dice against  established  methods  of  education. 

Maylita  agreed  with  him  on  this  subject. 
How  she  had  escaped  an  enforced  amount  of 
schooling  was  a  mystery,  unless  a  certain  pre- 
cocity which  passed  for  maturity  had  hood- 
winked the  census-takers.  Maylita  had  been 
a  "young  lady,"  with  all  its  advantages  of 
long  skirts,  turned-up  hair  and  flaunting 
feathers,  since  she  was  fourteen. 

Recently  something  seemed  to  trouble  her. 
She  had  assumed  a  strangely  defensive  atti- 
tude. The  young-girl  sauciness  was  harden- 
ing a  trifle  into  the  boldness  of  the  street 


IMPULSES  63 

promenader.  Sandy's  thoughts  shifted  to  the 
mother  of  this  girl,  then  to  the  father.  Was 
he  her  father?  Why  should  his  brain  ask  the 
question?  Yet  it  did.  By  the  time  Sandy 
reached  the  Burtons'  front  door  and  rang  the 
bell  it  held  a  tangle  of  questions  and  surmises. 

He  intended  leaving  the  book  for  Maylita 
with  anyone  who  answered  the  summons. 
Vague,  shuffling  sounds  from  within  assured 
trim  that  his  ring  had  been  heard.  He  waited. 
Sandy  was  not  a  patient  man,  but  in  consid- 
eration for  a  woman  passing  on  the  sidewalk 
below,  he  swore  softly.  He  heard  an  upper 
window  thrown  open  and  something  muttered 
about  an  "agent."  Then  the  window  slammed 
down  again. 

Once  more  he  rang,  this  time  continuously, 
a  look  of  grim  humor  testifying  to  his  enjoy- 
ment of  the  pastime,  until  the  door  slowly 
moved,  and  a  portion  of  Mrs.  Burton  appeared 
in  a  ten-inch  aperture.  One  surmised  that  the 
rest  of  her  was  held  together  by  the  hand 
clutching  a  gaudy  negligee. 

"I  don't  want  any — "  she  began  tartly. 

Sandy  urbanely  cut  short  her  speech. 
"How  do  you  do,  Mrs.  Burton?" 

The  aperture  widened  and  the  atmosphere 
cleared.  Mrs.  Burton's  society  manner,  which 
she  had  left  on  her  dressing-table,  slipped 


64  IMPULSES 

down  the  stairway  with  miraculous  swiftness 
and  enveloped  the  lady.  She  laughed  affect- 
edly. 

"That's  one  on  me!  You  must  really  par- 
don me — I  am  so  annoyed  by — er — Mr. — " 
She  stopped,  puzzled. 

Sandy  did  not  enlighten  her  as  to  his  name. 
"Kindly  give  this  to  Miss  Maylita,"  he  re- 
quested, tendering  the  book.  "It's  a  story  she 
and  I  have  been  talking  about." 

Mrs.  Burton  assumed  an  air  of  mystery. 
"Maylita  ain't  home,  neither's  Claribel,"  she 
whispered.  "I  wish  you'd  come  in  awhile.  I'm 
in  great  trouble  and  I  must  talk  to  someone." 

Sandy's  first  impulse  was  to  turn  and  rush 
headlong  down  the  steps  and  away;  his  sec- 
ond tempted  him  with  the  promise  of  a  good 
story. 

To  gain  time  he  looked  dubiously  at  his 
watch,  which,  with  its  daily  habit,  had 
stopped. 

"I  have  half  an  hour  to  spare,"  he  admitted 
gruffly,  and  followed  Mrs.  Burton  into  the  tiny 
entrance  hall  and  thence  into  a  box-like  sit- 
ting-room. 

The  lady  was  rapidly  inventing  an  appro- 
priate tale  while  she  motioned  Sandy  toward 
a  brilliantly  upholstered  patent-rocker,  and 
seated  herself  with  studied  negligence  in  the 


IMPULSES  65 

"cosy-corner,"  over  which  a  standard  lamp 
presided.  Sandy's  imagination  pictured  the 
alluring  glow  this  lamp  was  designed  to  shed 
during  the  evening  hours. 

He  could  not  know  that  the  story  now  is- 
suing from  the  speaker's  lips  was  an  inspira- 
tion of  the  moment,  yet  he  suspected  it,  and 
listened  warily.  His  surmises  when  coming 
up  the  street  recurred  to  him,  and  they  fitted 
each  new  statement  exactly.  He  believed 
nothing  Mrs.  Burton  told  him.  His  faith  in 
his  own  theories  grew  strong.  The  details  of 
her  recital  he  forgot  almost  as  soon  as  uttered, 
but  the  substance  added  layer  upon  layer  to 
the  structure  of  his  own  conviction. 

Here  was  a  household,  founded,  not  for  the 
integrity  or  uplift  of  the  human  race,  but  for 
its  downfall.  The  "cruelty"  and  "infidelity" 
of  a  husband  he  defined  as  the  straining 
chains  of  a  temporary  relationship.  The  "un- 
dutifulness"  of  daughters  he  put  down  as  the 
natural  waywardness  of  two  pretty,  un- 
trained girls.  Looking  at  their  mother,  sud- 
denly and  intimately  thrown  under  his  obser- 
vation, Sandy  saw  the  appropriateness  of  both 
these  adjectives. 

Another  suspicion  assailed  him — Was  she 
their  mother?  Yes,  she  must,  at  any  rate,  be 
Maylita's.  Both  had  the  same  trick  of  the 


66  IMPULSES 

eyes,  although  that  might  be  due  to  constant 
association.  He  could  not  definitely  place  the 
elder  girl,  but  she  was  beside  the  point;  his 
concern  was  Maylita. 

Mrs.  Burton's  smooth,  insinuating  tones, 
contrasting  oddly  with  her  lack  of  grammar, 
continued : 

"Maylita's  her  pa's  favorite,  and  I  says  to 
him  the  other  night,  'you  ain't  got  no  call  to 
make  a  difference  between  the  two/  but  he 
says,"  a  hard  glint  came  into  the  woman's 
eyes,  "  'she's  so  pretty  I  can't  help  it.' ' 

Here  Sandy's  structure  of  surmises  grew 
rapidly.  Maylita  was  not  Mr.  Burton's 
daughter  and  her  mother  was  jealous  of  the 
girl. 

Her  daughters  had  not  been  brought  up  to 
work,  he  was  told.  Their  father  had  met  with 
reverses.  Everyone  knew  what  this  last  year 
had  been  in  a  business  way.  Couldn't  he  see 
how  she  was  placed  with  two  young,  attrac- 
tive girls  on  her  hands,  so  difficult  to  manage 
— discord  and  jealousy  between  her  husband 
and  herself? — In  fact,  a  man  of  mature  judg- 
ment like  Mr. — er — she  never  could  remem- 
ber names!  might  be  of  so  much  assistance, 
especially  in  Maylita's  case.  Maylita  had 
spoken  of  him  often  lately.  In  fact — she  sus- 


IMPULSES  67 

pected — oh,  well,  she  mustn't  "butt  in,"  she 
supposed ! 

This  final  insinuation,  flung  at  Sandy  with 
the  suddenness  of  a  bomb,  brought  him  to  his 
feet.  He  consulted  his  silent  watch.  His 
hostess,  seeing  her  advantage  slipping  from 
her,  grasped  for  some  new  straw,  and  caught 
it  in  the  sound  of  quick  footsteps  coming  up 
from  the  street,  and  the  banging  of  the  outer 
door. 

"Here's  Maylita  now,"  she  said,  as  the 
girl  with  the  exaggerated  enthusiasm  of  the 
present  day,  ran  into  the  room. 

Her  genuine  surprise  was  evident  at  the 
sight  of  her  mother's  visitor. 

"Hello!"  exclaimed  Maylita  airily. 

"Hello,  yourself!"  responded  Sandy. 
"Been  shopping?" 

"Sure!  On  thirty  cents.  Can  you  beat 
it?" 

Sandy's  grim  surmise  about  the  girl's  po- 
sition wavered  as  he  contemplated  her  fresh 
gaiety.  Surely  she  could  not  be  deliberately 
concerned  in  any  conspiracy. 

"I  came  to  bring  you  the  book  we  were  dis- 
cussing," he  said.  "Let  me  know  when  you 
have  finished  it,  and  I'll  bring  you  another." 

"Oh,  ain't  you  just  grand!"  she  cried  de- 


68  IMPULSES 

lightedly.     "Clare's  so  jealous  she  can't  see 
straight." 

"I'll  bring  her  one  too,"  suggested  Sandy 
simply. 

"I  guess  nitl"  was  the  indignant  response. 
"You're  my  find." 

Bewildered  Sandy  winced  at  the  definite- 
ness  of  this  assertion.  The  drawn-out  half- 
hour  again  suggested  itself. 

"I  was  just  going,"  he  said,  and  with  an 
abrupt  "good-bye"  he  left  mother  and  daugh- 
ter to  share  their  astonishment  with  each 
other. 

Several  days  passed.  Then,  early  one 
evening  Sandy  received  an  agitated  telephone 
message.  Maylita's  voice  urged  him  to  meet 
her  "right  away"  about  something  important. 
She  was  starting  that  moment  down  the  hill. 
Sandy's  ire  rose.  No  woman  should  say  "right 
away"  to  him!  He  hung  up  the  receiver 
without  giving  a  definite  answer.  Immedi- 
ately an  organ  within  him  which  he  firmly  be- 
lieved to  be  callous  asserted  itself.  He  pot- 
tered about  in  his  tiny  sitting-room,  carefully 
filled  his  pipe,  and  lighted  it.  Each  puff  only 
accentuated  the  threatening  of  that  callous 
organ  in  his  chest,  till,  hang  it  all !  He  caught 
up  his  hat  and  hastened  out. 


IMPULSES  69 

"What  does  the  darned  kid  want  now?" 
he  grumbled,  as  he  strode  up  the  street. 

Maylita,  true  to  her  word,  had  started 
"right  away,"  never  doubting  the  willingness 
of  her  "find"  to  obey  her  behest.  She  met  him 
three-quarters  of  the  way. 

"I  hate  'em  all  up  there!"  she  began  ex- 
citedly. "On  the  low  down,  I'm  going  to  run 
away!" 

"Come  off,  now,  come  off,"  advised  Sandy, 
twitching  her  sleeve,  presumably  bringing  her 
down  from  an  airship  flight.  "What's  the 
trouble,  eh?" 

"Gee,  it  makes  me  sick!  That  man's  the 
limit." 

"Whatman?" 

"That—"  she  hesitated,  "my  f— father." 

Sandy  caught  her  elbow  firmly,  turned  her 
round  a  corner,  and  walked  her  determinedly 
forward. 

"Now,  see  here,  I  want  the  truth  about 
this,  Maylita !  I  can't  help  you  in  the  slight- 
est until  I  know  the  facts.  Why  do  you  call 
your  father  'that  man?'  "  The  girl  began  to 
stammer  again.  "7s  he  your  father? — I  don't 
believe  he  is." 

"How  did  you  know?" 

"It  didn't  take  much  perception.  Where's 
your  own  father?" 


70  IMPULSES 

"I  don't  know,"  said  Maylita  inconsequen- 
tially. "I  never  heard  much  about  him.  This 
guy's  been  hanging  around  for  the  last  three 
years,  and  he's  getting  to  be  a  pest,  see?" 

Sandy  did  "see,"  and  a  street  light  helped 
by  giving  him  a  glimpse  of  the  girl's  honest 
eyes,  clear  and  unfaltering,  gazing  into  his. 

Her  treble  voice  rattled  on.  "I've  had  a 
lot  of  'fathers.'  That's  all  right  when  you're 
a  kid.  Kids  don't  bother  much  about  things 
if  they've  got  plenty  of  food  and  clothes.  But 
it's  the  limit  when  you  begin  to  see  things — 
like  in  that  book  you  just  gave  me." 

"Serves  me  right!"  growled  Sandy,  feeling 
his  own  responsibility  growing.  "I  never  did 
believe  in  education." 

"What's  that?" 

"Oh,  nothing!  I  was  merely  talking  to 
myself." 

He  frequently  addressed  strange  remarks 
to  himself  while  conversing  with  Maylita.  She 
was  accustomed  to  this  habit,  and  put  it  down 
as  one  of  the  peculiarities  of  middle-age. 

"I'm  going  to  quit  now,"  she  continued. 
"I'm  going  to  light  out,  skidoo,  tiventy-thr- 
r-ree,  and  I  knew  you'd  help  me!" 

The  unfortunate  Sandy,  his  hand  gripping 
her  thin  little  elbow,  marched  firmly  on. 

"Ouch!"    complained    Maylita.      "When 


IMPULSES  71 

you're  done  with  my  arm  I'd  like  it  back,  kid !" 
With  amazement  Sandy  regarded  this 
slender,  snub-nosed,  starry-eyed  bit  of  femi- 
ninity so  nonchalantly  treading  the  brink  of  a 
frightful  chasm. 

He  laughed  aloud.  "You're  a  game  chick- 
en. If  I  do  help  you,  you  must  do  as  I  say,  you 
know.  When  do  you  wish  to  run  away,  and 
what  do  you  propose  doing?" 

'Til  get  away  first,"  she  announced 
calmly. 

"It  isn't  so  easy  to  run  away  as  you  think. 
If  you  pack  up  and  walk  out  you'll  be  readily 
traced.  You  have  nowhere  to  go." 

"That's  just  what  I  wanted  to  talk  to  you 
about.  Ma  won't  be  itching  to  find  me,  but 
my  dear  'pa'  will !" 

More  and  more  heavily  the  unwelcome  sit- 
uation pressed  upon  Sandy,  but  he  had  never 
been  known  willingly  to  disappoint  a  "kid." 

"Go  home  now  and  hold  your  own  for  a 
few  more  days.  You  can  do  it.  I'll  do  some 
thinking.  Darn  you,  I'll  come  up  to  the  house 
in  a  day  or  so,  and  size  up  the  situation  my- 
self!  We'll  see  what  can  be  done." 

"All  right,"  she  assented.  "I  know  you'll 
think  of  something." 

They  turned  another  corner  and  found 


72  IMPULSES 

themselves  within  a  few  doors  of  her  apart- 
ment. 

"Come  in  now,"  she  suggested. 
"No,  not  now.    I  must  think." 
"Just  as  you  say,  but  don't  you  forget!" 
"I  always  remember,"  answered  Sandy, 
and  with  him,  although  Maylita  did  not  know 
it,  this  was  a  binding  oath. 

Airily  she  tossed  a  kiss  as  she  ran  up  the 
steps,  leaving  Sandy  to  walk  soberly  down  the 
hill,  alternately  cursing  and  marvelling  at 
the  pranks  of  fate  which  had  deliberately 
given  into  his  keeping,  to  make  or  mar,  this 
irresponsible  fragment  of  human  life. 

When  he  strolled  up  the  hill  the  following 
evening  with  another  book  in  his  pocket  for 
Maylita,  he  had  made  no  definite  plans.  His 
mind  was  open  to  receive  the  impressions 
which  a  call  on  the  assembled  family  would 
give.  To  his  dismay  he  found  a  half-dozen 
guests  being  entertained  by  an  apparently 
harmonious  domestic  group.  Preparations 
for  a  card  game  were  under  way,  as  a  box  of 
poker  chips  and  other  signs  testified. 

The  nonchalant  object  of  his  visit  scarcely 
noticed  him,  so  absorbed  was  she  with  the  at- 
tentions of  a  tall,  powerful-looking  youth 
whom  Sandy  recognized  as  one  of  the  fastest 


IMPULSES  73 

men  about  town.  Mr.  Burton  greeted  Sandy 
with  scant  cordiality,  but  Mrs.  Burton  allevi- 
ated the  effect  of  this  by  drawing  him  aside 
with  a  confidential  smile.  The  standard  lamp 
shed  a  rosy  glow  over  the  "cosy-corner"  to- 
night. She  seated  herself  there  but  Sandy 
evinced  no  desire  to  be  lured  into  a  flirtation 
with  Mrs.  Burton.  He  stood  uncompromis- 
ingly in  front  of  her  and  spoke  solemnly  of 
the  weather — of  its  effect  upon  the  crops. 
Then  taking  the  book  from  his  pocket  he 
glanced  toward  Maylita. 

Mrs.  Burton  held  up  her  hand  chidingly. 
"Don't — don't  disturb  her  now,  you  naughty 
man !  She's  having  the  time  of  her  life."  She 
laughed,  and  Sandy  hated  her  for  the  look  she 
bestowed  on  her  young  daughter. 

"Give  the  girl  a  chance,"  she  added. 

No  more  words  were  needed;  one  read 
the  woman's  purpose  in  every  glance  and  ex- 
pression. In  the  interval  Sandy  decided  upon 
his  method  of  campaign.  He  would  beat  this 
woman  at  her  little  game  if  it  took  six  months ! 
His  expression  betrayed  nothing.  He  became 
more  genial,  and  continued  to  talk  about  the 
weather. 

Craftily  watching  for  his  chance,  he  soon 
deserted  the  lady  in  the  "cosy-corner"  and 


74  IMPULSES 

went  to  Maylita.  He  nodded  greeting  to  the 
man  at  her  side. 

"How  are  you,  Elaine?  Well,  Miss  May- 
lita, how's  the  library  coming  on?" 

She  smiled  languidly.  Elderly  men  and 
their  books  were  of  small  consequence  tonight. 

"Oh,  all  right,  I  guess!  I  ain't  finished 
the  last  one  yet.  It's  too  deep  for  me !"  She 
tapped  her  pretty  forehead  where  the  way- 
ward hair  fell  loosely.  "Nobody  home!" 

Elaine  smiled  approvingly.  "That's  right! 
Don't  let's  have  any  of  this  'new  woman'  stuff 
in  ours.  Miss  Maylita's  too  pretty  to  worry 
over  books." 

She  simpered  delightedly.  Sandy  set  his 
teeth.  Determined  lines  showed  about  his 
mouth.  His  tone  was  suave. 

"I  think  this  one  will  interest  you.  It's  a 
story  of  the  mountains." 

Good  fortune  favored  Sandy  at  that  mo- 
ment. A  girl  who  with  jealous  eyes  had  been 
watching  Maylita  and  her  admirer  suddenly 
took  advantage  of  Sandy's  making  a  third  and 
broke  into  the  group,  claiming  Elaine's  atten- 
tion. For  the  moment  Elaine  was  helpless 
against  the  intruder's  effusive  greeting. 

Meanwhile  Sandy  rapidly  "made  hay." 
Opening  the  book  he  insisted  upon  Maylita's 


IMPULSES  75 

looking  at  it.  Under  cover  of  this  on  a  bit  of 
paper  he  wrote  hurriedly : 

"I  have  decided  what  to  do.  Come  down 
the  hill  tomorrow  at  four.  Bring  a  clean 
shirtwaist  with  you.  No  fooling,  kid.  I'm  on 
the  square." 

He  slipped  this  into  her  hand.  "Good- 
night, Maylita;  sorry  I  can't  stay  longer," 
and  was  gone. 

Promptly  at  four  o'clock  the  next  after- 
noon a  much-puzzled  Maylita  met  him.  Sandy 
had  been  right  in  his  belief  that  curiosity,  if 
nothing  else,  would  bring  her. 

"What's  this  fer?"  was  her  first  enquiry, 
indicating  the  small  parcel  she  carried,  con- 
taining presumably,  the  clean  shirtwaist. 

During  their  tramp  up  and  down  the  city 
streets  Sandy  explained.  For  an  hour  they 
walked  and  argued.  Up  Pine  street  they 
went,  and  down  Bush;  up  Sutter  and  down 
Post.  It  was  a  different  girl  now  with  whom 
Sandy  had  to  deal,  a  girl  dazzled  by  the  at- 
tentions of  a  new  admirer,  different  from  any 
previous  one.  Sandy  was  a  "find"  of  another 
sort.  He  was  an  interesting  puzzle,  not  a  pos- 
sible "beau."  Sandy  realized  that  it  was  now 
or  never  with  her.  He  would  take  no  refusal. 
Acting  on  her  expressed  wish  to  leave  home  he 


76  IMPULSES 

insisted  that  with  his  help  she  should  carry  it 
out.  So  they  argued. 

"It  will  take  time,  Maylita,  to  find  a  place 
for  you,  and  to  decide  what  you  are  eventu- 
ally to  do.  If  you  leave  home  at  once  with  bag 
and  baggage  they'll  see  you  go,  and  will  soon 
trace  you.  What  I  want  you  to  do  is  this. 
During  the  next  few  days  smuggle  down  to 
me  in  packages  all  the  clothes  and  truck  you 
think  you'll  need.  I'll  keep  them  in  my  room. 
Tust  as  soon  as  we  get  everything  together 
\ye'll  pack  you  up  in  a  couple  of  my  suitcases 
or  bags— or — anything!"  Sandy's  enthusi- 
asm increased  with  each  new  idea.  "Then  I'll 
tike  you  across  the  bay  to  some  friends  of 
mine.  I'm  abducting  you,  Maylita,  don't  you 
see?"  he  wound  up  gleefully. 

Her  face  expressed  anything  but  the  ex- 
pected pleasure  at  this  announcement.  He 
continued. 

"My  friends  will  keep  you  until  we  find 
work  for  you.  Then  when  you  are  at  work, 
and  independent — "  he  snapped  his  fingers — 
"no  relatives  in  the  world  can  get  you  back!" 

Maylita  grew  rather  pleased  with  this 
idea.  "All  right,"  she  finally  agreed.  "I  get 
you.  I  guess  it's  what  I  ought  to  do." 

"Good  girl !  Slip  out  tomorrow  at  ten  and 
f  Dur.  I'll  be  waiting  to  take  your  bundles. 


IMPULSES  77 

Bring  all  you  can  without  causing  any  sus- 
picion.'' 

'Oh,  they  don't  notice  what  I'm  up  to  much 
of  the  time !  Ma  and  Claribel  have  their  own 
troubles." 

"Is  Claribel  your  sister?" 

"I  don't  know.  I  always  thought  she  was, 
but  she's  been  away  a  lot.  Maybe  she's  a 
fakir  too,  eh?" 

"Let's  give  her  the  benefit  of  the  doubt," 
suggested  Sandy. 

"She  needs  it!"  charitably  conceded  May- 

lita. 

The  next  few  days  were  exciting  ones  for 

the  hero  of  this  abduction  case.  His  club  saw 
him  not.  "What's  become  of  Sandy?"  various 
clubmembers  enquired.  No  one  knew.  No 
one  saw  him  cross  the  bay  at  an  unusual  hour; 
neither  did  anyone  know  of  his  suddenly  de- 
veloped interest  in  advertisement  columns, 
nor  of  his  making  numerous  calls  upon  peo- 
ple who  might  lend  their  aid  in  this  conspiracy 
without  being  told  that  it  was  one. 

At  ten  and  four  o'clock  each  day  a  jaunty 
little  figure  came  down  the  hill,  sometimes 
happily  expectant,  sometimes  defiant,  but 
never  quite  daring  to  defeat  her  abductor's 
plans.  Curiosity  continued  to  do  its  work. 

Sandy  questioned  her  once  or  twice  about 


78  IMPULSES 

what  was  taking  place  at  home.  Mr.  Elaine 
had  called  once  again.  It  was  the  morning 
after  this  that  Maylita  was  defiant,  and 
Sandy  called  her  a  "little  fool." 

Then  the  day  arrived  when  a  sober-faced 
Maylita,  half-frightened,  sat  in  Sandy's  sit- 
ting-room for  the  first  time  and  surveyed  her 
numerous  parcels  carefully  stacked  in  a  cor- 
ner. Sandy  had  been  calculating  their  dimen- 
sions, and  several  valises  stood  ready. 

"Come,  Maylita,  it's  up  to  you.  Chuck 
them  in  and  we'll  get  the  next  boat  across." 

Then  the  unexpected  happened.  "I  don't 
want  to  go,"  whined  Maylita.  "Say,  it'll  be 
awful  lonesome  over  there.  I'd  rather  stay 
here." 

"Stop  that!"  commanded  Sandy.  "Do  you 
know  what  you're  talking  about,  you  bloom- 
ing kid?" 

"Yes,  I  know !"  defiantly.  "But  what's  the 
use?  I  guess  you're  a  pretty  kind  guy.  I 
don't  know  how  to  do  no  work  to  earn  my  liv- 
ing, and  what's  the  use,  anyhow?  Claribel 
says — " 

"Just  cut  out  the  Claribel  stuff  and  listen 
to  me.  Do  you  remember  what  you  told  me 
last  week  when  you  decided  to  'light  out?' ' 

"Yes,"  she  admitted. 

"Well,  then,  that  was  you  talking,  not  this 


IMPULSES  79 

silly  little  goose  here  on  my  couch.  That  was 
you,  your  real  self,  that  girl,  and  she  can  do 
anything  she  wants  to  do  because  she's  big 
and  strong!" 

"I  ain't  big  and  strong,"  sobbed  Maylita, 
throwing  herself  face  downward  on  the  couch. 

Then  for  a  few  minutes  the  devil  entered 
Sandy's  soul. 

Sandy's  name  for  him  was  "the  other  fel- 
low," and  he  loathed  him,  but  he  loathed  him- 
self more  after  having  listened  to  his  prompt- 
ing. 

No,  Maylita  was  not  "big  and  strong,"  she 
was  small  and  frail,  agreed  the  devil. 

"But  her  potentialities  are  great,"  argued 
Sandy.  "With  me  lies  the  making  of  her 
life." 

"What  have  you  to  do  with  her  future? 
There  she  is !"  urged  the  devil.  "Her  mother 
practically  gave  her  to  you  that  day  last  week. 
The  present  is  yours.  Why  is  it  for  you  to 
shoulder  the  responsibility  any  more  than  for 
any  other  man?" 

Sandy  stood  rigid,  his  hands  clenched.  To 
make  or  mar?  There  was  a  middle  course — 
to  turn  her  out  again  and  let  her  drift.  It  had 
been  through  no  wish  of  his  that  he  had  be- 
come this  girl's  guardian. 

Thus  Maylita's  fate  hung  upon  the  out- 


80  IMPULSES 

come  of  a  struggle  between  Sandy  and  "the 
other  fellow." 

Meanwhile  she  lay  on  the  couch  sobbing 
tumultuously.  Perhaps  the  sobs  turned  the 
scales  for  her.  They  were  too  much  like  those 
of  a  tired,  excited  child. 

Suddenly  the  devil  slunk  away,  beaten, 
and  a  gruff,  profane  Sandy  stood,  determined 
and  alone. 

He  strode  to  the  couch  and  shook  the  pros- 
trate Maylita. 

"Damn  you !"  he  shouted.  "Quit  that !  Get 
up  and  pack  your  clothes.  I'm  going  outside. 
I'll  be  back  here  in  ten  minutes,  do  you  hear? 
I  give  you  just  that  to  be  ready." 

He  was  gone,  but  his  departure  was  glad- 
dened by  a  glimpse  of  the  girl  hurriedly  sop- 
ping her  tears  with  a  ball  of  a  handkerchief, 
and  commencing  to  cram  her  belongings  into 
the  waiting  receptacles. 

The  trip  across  the  bay  was  silent  and 
gloomy.  Neither  could  have  told  whether  the 
sun  shone.  Even  the  seagulls  respected  their 
mood  and  swooped  in  wide  circles  away  from 
them. 

It  was  only  after  Sandy  had  returned  to 
his  apartment,  and  was  philosophically  gath- 
ering up  the  scattered  bits  of  string  and 


IMPULSES  81 

paper,  that  he  realized  with  a  sense  of  tri- 
umph that  his  first  abduction  had  been  suc- 
cessfully accomplished. 

All  this  happened  several  years  ago. 
Sandy's  crime  was  never  discovered;  he  still 
walks  the  earth  unpunished. 

One  evening  last  week  he  dined  with  May- 
lita  at  her  home  across  the  bay.  She  is  no 
longer  "lonesome,"  for  in  her  home  live  also 
her  husband,  and  year-old  son. 

Sandy  passed  a  pleasant  evening  there. 
After  he  had  said  good-night,  the  husband  fol- 
lowed him  to  the  door,  while  the  young  wife 
answered  the  cry  of  the  tiny  boy. 

"I'm  glad  to  see  you  so  well  fixed,"  said 
Sandy,  making  conversation  as  he  shook  him- 
self into  his  much-worn  overcoat. 

"I  tell  you,  it's  great,"  responded  the 
young  man.  "That  little  girl  is  as  square  as 
they  make  'em ;  but  then  you  know  what  she 
is.  Maylita  says  she's  known  you  a  long  time. 
It's  what  we  all  need,  you  bet! — a  good 
woman  to  keep  us  straight!" 

And  Sandy,  smiling  wisely,  agreed  with 
him. 


THE  HUMAN  LOTTERY 

Sandy  despised  Maisie  with  all  the 
strength  of  his  impetuous  nature,  yet  with  the 
exception  of  two  well-known  facts,  he  knew 
nothing  about  her.  She  wore  a  bold,  green 
feather  on  an  otherwise  inconspicuous  hat, 
and  she  sold  lottery  tickets  in  all  the  vilest 
dens  along  the  water  front. 

Frequently  he  questioned  his  prejudice. 
What  was  the  woman  or  her  occupation  to 
him?  Then  the  green  feather  would  flaunt 
its  hideousness  in  front  of  his  harmony-loving 
eyes,  the  strident  tones  of  her  voice  would  jar 
once  again  upon  his  ear-drums,  and  with  a 
shudder  he  would  hasten  out  of  sight  and 
hearing. 

An  evening  came  when  he  voiced  his  emo- 
tional opinions  to  his  friend,  Prescott.  Every 
three  months  Philip  Prescott's  steamer  came 
into  port,  and  Prescott,  a  clean-cut,  young  sec- 
ond officer,  leaving  his  gaily  bedecked  cabin 
with  his  "mascot"  and  other  keepsakes, 
"bunked"  with  Sandy  during  the  few  nights 
on  shore. 


IMPULSES  83 

Maisie  brushed  against  them  as  they  were 
about  to  enter  the  ferry  building  on  their  way 
to  dine  with  a  suburban  friend. 

"There's  a  woman  who  ought  to  be  run 
off  the  earth !"  grumbled  Sandy. 

Prescott,  shifting  his  gaze  sideways  as  he 
dropped  his  ticket  into  the  gateman's  box, 
glimpsed  the  woman's  back  in  retreat. 

"Why,  that's  Maisie!" 

"Is  it,  indeed?"  gibed  Sandy  with  mild 
surprise.  "You  seem  to  be  on  familiar  terms 
with  the  lady." 

"She's  not  a  bad  sort,"  answered  Prescott. 
"She  comes  on  board  every  trip  in,  and  there's 
not  a  man  on  the  ship  who  hasn't  a  good  word 
for  Maisie." 

Sandy  concealed  his  increased  surprise. 
"Well,  I  hate  her,"  he  stated  emphatically. 
The  subject  continued  to  irritate  him  however, 
and  half  way  across  the  bay  he  jerked  it  forth 
again.  "She's  had  a  young  girl  around  with 
her  recently;  teaching  her  the  tricks  of  the 
trade,  I  suppose!" 

"Yes,  that's  Alice." 

"Alice?"  Sandy  was  now  openly  curious. 

"Yes  —  young  Englishwoman,"  volun- 
teered Prescott.  "It  seems  she  landed  here  in 
San  Francisco  last  year  with  a  dead  husband, 
and  a  kid  expected." 


84  IMPULSES 

Interest  gleamed  in  Sandy's  eyes,  but  a 
casual  "humph"  was  all  he  vouchsafed.  It 
was  his  opinion  that  Prescott  showed  undue 
familiarity  with  the  private  history  of  these 
women. 

"The  man  died  on  the  train  near  Sacra- 
mento," continued  his  friend,  unconscious  of 
the  impression  he  was  creating.  "Maisie  ran 
across  the  girl  in  the  waiting-room  just  after 
the  train  got  in.  She  was  having  some  stiff 
time,  I  can  tell  you,  with  a  lot  of  dunderhead- 
ed  officials  who  were  treating  the  affair  as  a 
capital  offence  against  the  comfort  of  passen- 
gers for  a  woman  carelessly  to  allow  her  hus- 
band to  die  on  the  train." 

"Some  women  are  like  that!"  commented 
Sandy,  siding  with  the  officials. 

"Don't  be  a  chump,  Sandy.  I'm  giving 
you  the  straight  dope.  Maisie  has  been  a  good 
friend  to  Alice;  she's  had  her  in  tow  ever 
since." 

"Well,  I'm  sorry  for  Alice.  I  wish  she  had 
a  better  friend !  Of  all  the—" 

Just  then  the  boat  bumped  into  the  ferry 
slip,  cutting  in  two  any  further  invectives  in- 
tended for  Maisie,  and  after  the  two  men  had 
boarded  the  Oakland  train  the  subject  was  not 
resumed. 


IMPULSES  85 

Meanwhile  the  green  feather  bobbed  in 
and  out  among  the  countless  varieties  of  mil- 
linery hurrying  to  catch  the  outbound  boats. 
Gradually  in  the  mist  its  jauntiness  became 
reduced  to  damp,  pathetic  wisps  clinging  to 
their  wearer's  indescribable  hair. 

The  evening  was  a  depressing  one  follow- 
ing a  weary  day.  Maisie's  heart  was  not  in 
her  work ;  her  tongue  seemed  to  have  lost  its 
power  of  persuasion.  She  usually  knew  "how 
to  talk  to  'em,  sure  she  did!"  When  dealing 
with  "swells"  she  knew  just  the  wink  and  the 
sly  insinuations  to  make  use  of  which  drew 
them  aside  and  exchanged  bits  of  pasteboard 
for  good,  hard  coin  in  a  minute's  time,  always 
out  of  sight  of  the  nearest  "cop." 

Although  the  majority  of  the  officers  on 
the  beat  knew  Maisie  well  by  sight  and  had  a 
pleasant  speaking  acquaintance  with  her,  and 
although  each  had  his  well-founded  suspicion 
as  to  her  occupation,  suspicion  had  never  been 
substantiated  by  fact.  Facts  are  troublesome 
affairs  often  causing  endless  deviations  from 
one's  regular  line  of  duty,  so  there  existed  a 
tacit  agreement  allowing  Maisie  to  pursue  her 
own  untrammelled  way. 

Across  the  Embarcadero  she  went  hoping 
for  better  success  among  her  "regulars"  in 
the  numerous  dens  which  face  the  ferry  docks. 


86  IMPULSES 

In  these  she  was  quite  at  home.  Here  insinu- 
ations and  hoodwinking  were  seldom  needed. 

"Hello,  here's  the  old  gal  a-comin' !"  joshed 
the  bleary-eyed  individual  who  ran  a  choice 
"beanery"  into  which  many  a  young  sailor 
lurched  when  he  came  ashore  to  "blow  in"  his 
wages  in  the  few  hours  allowed  for  riotous  liv- 
ing. These  young  sailors  were  meat  and 
drink  to  Maisie. 

"Sure,  it's  much  better  fer  thim  ter  take  a 
uncertain  chanst  wid  me,  thin  a  sure  drunk!" 
she  sometimes  said. 

Often  her  stout  fist  was  called  into  requisi- 
tion when  her  ready  tongue  failed  to  settle 
some  matter  of  too  much  familiarity  on  their 
part. 

"Close  yer  face,  Maginnis,"  she  now  cas- 
ually remarked  to  the  bleary-eyed  josher. 
"Has  Kennedy  come  in  yet?" 

"You  bet,  an'  gone  out  again." 

"Whyn't  ye  hold  'im  here,  ye  darn  fool,  till 
Oi  come?" 

"Me  hold  'im!  Guess  yer  ain't  seen  'is 
new  mash.  I  tell  yer  what !"  The  bleary  eyes 
of  Maginnis  roved  heavenward  in  an  ecstatic 
attempt  to  express  something  for  which  mere 
words  were  inadequate. 

"A  good  thing  too !    Ye  needn't  think  Oi'm 


IMPULSES  87 

after  wantin'  ter  stop  'im.  He  kin  jist  kape 
'is  dirty  paws  off  en  my  Alice !" 

"How  is  the  purty  miss?"  questioned 
Maginnis.  "I  ain't  seen  'er  this  week." 

"No,  nor  ye  won't,  Tom  Maginnis.  Oi've 
had  enough  o'  the  loikes  o'  ye  fer  a  honest  girl. 
She'll  come  no  more  aroun'  here." 

A  water-front  policeman  strolled  in  and 
nodded  pleasantly. 

Without  a  change  of  tone,  owing  to  long 
practice,  Maisie  continued.  "An'  jist  tell 
Kennedy  Oi've  got  those  new  kind  o'  shoe- 
strings he  loikes,  an'  maybe  he'd  want  some 
little  trifle  fer  'is  girl." 

"Shoe-strings,  is  it?"  Maginnis  laughed 
derisively.  "All  right,  I'll  tell  'im !" 

"Cold  night,  Maisie,"  remarked  the  officer, 
as  she  passed  out  into  the  fog. 

"It  is  that,"  she  answered. 

Standing  still  a  moment  in  the  jostling, 
cosmopolitan  throng  she  looked  southward 
along  the  glittering  line  of  lights  streaming 
from  open  doorways,  each  one  attracting  its 
quota  of  unresisting  humanity. 

Trade  might  be  good  tonight.  The  fog 
would  drive  many  indoors  to  remain  through 
the  evening,  and  it  required  only  a  drink  or 
two  in  a  convivial  atmosphere  to  loosen  the 
average  man's  purse  strings. 


88  IMPULSES 

An  unusual  distaste  of  it  all  possessed 
Maisie. 

"Aw,  what's  the  use?"  she  exclaimed  to  a 
hulking  sailor  stumbling  over  the  curb.  "Oi'm 
goin'  home." 

The  man  leered.  "Well,  go  on,  old  gal. 
What's  hinderin'  yer?" 

Turning  northward,  Maisie  trudged  for 
many  blocks  until  ferry-boat  whistles,  car 
bells,  and  all  the  other  city  noises  dropped 
away  below  her  in  the  distance.  Still,  the  feel- 
ing of  distaste,  mingled  with  a  vague  sense  of 
injustice,  pursued  her.  Over  and  over  again 
the  sound  of  a  man's  voice  rang  in  her  ears, 
the  voice  of  a  man  whom  she  knew  well  by 
sight  but  whom  she  had  not  for  a  long  time 
accosted.  "There's  a  woman  who  ought  to  be 
run  off  the  earth,"  reiterated  this  voice  until 
the  hard  sidewalks  gave  back  the  words  in 
rhythm  under  her  weary  feet,  humming  them 
out  of  the  swathing  fog. 

After  half  an  hour's  walk  she  came  to  the 
foot  of  a  flight  of  rickety  steps.  Climbing 
these  she  paused  to  take  breath.  Perched  on 
the  side  of  a  steep  hill  with  others  of  its  kind 
was  a  shabby  little  cottage  toward  which  she 
turned  with  a  sigh  of  relief.  From  the  nar- 
row front  walk  she  peered  through  a  slit  in 
one  of  the  old  green  shutters.  A  feeble  light 


IMPULSES  89 

was  visible.  Yes, — there  they  were,  those  who 
composed  her  bit  of  home. 

One  glance  showed  that  something  had 
occurred  to  disturb  the  usual  routine.  A  girl 
of  ten  had  thrown  aside  her  school-books  and 
was  trying  to  comfort  a  fair-haired  young 
woman  whose  pale,  refined  face  looked  mark- 
edly out  of  place  in  its  poor  surroundings.  A 
boy  of  five  sat  at  a  shaky  old  table  busily  oc- 
cupied with  some  kindergarten  work.  Occa- 
sionally he  glanced  up  with  a  troubled  look. 
His  pudgy  face  bore  a  ludicrous  resemblance 
to  the  one  peering  through  the  shutter.  Some- 
thing should  be  done,  he  knew,  in  the  way  of 
offering  comfort,  yet  he  felt  his  extreme  youth 
an  obstacle,  so  he  pursued  his  occupation  in 
stolid  silence. 

"Don't  cry,  Alice,  dearie,"  the  little  girl 
was  saying.  "Ma'll  be  in  soon,  then  you  can 
tell  her  all  about  it." 

Alice  leaned  her  head  against  the  dark  one 
of  her  little  consoler.  "Your  mother  is  so 
good  to  me,  Maggie.  I've  been  a  lot  of  trou- 
ble to  her." 

Then  Maisie  withdrew  her  eye  from  the 
slit  and  tramped  across  the  narrow  porch  and 
entered. 

"Here  she  is!"  cried  Maggie. 

Little  Bob  recklessly  cast  aside  his  strips 


90  IMPULSES 

of  many-colored  paper,  leaped  up  and  swung 
joyously  on  his  mother's  arm. 

"Spalpeen !"  said  Maisie,  but  her  tone  and 
smile  conveyed  all  he  wished  to  her  son,  and  he 
returned  to  his  task  with  a  satisfied  sigh. 

"Well,  Alice,  what's  the  matter?  What  ye 
doin'  t'er,  Mag?" 

"Nothin',  Ma.  She  won't  tell  me  what's 
the  matter.  She  was  home  here  when  I  came 
in  from  school." 

"She  was,  huh?  We'll  have  ter  see  about 
that."  Maisie  glanced  keenly  at  the  face  of 
the  older  girl.  "Bring  me  my  supper,  Mag- 
gie; thin  ye  kin  take  Bobby  an'  run  over  ter 
Mis'  Henderson's  fer  a  bit." 

"Oh,  Ma,  why  must  I?"  implored  Maggie, 
torn  with  disappointed  curiosity. 

"Oi  don't  want  none  o'  yer  lip,  Mag.  Ye 
kin  do  as  Oi  say." 

"Yes'm." 

"Bobby  kin  take  'is  mats  ter  weave,  an' 
ye  kin  do  yer  Arithmetic  jist  as  well  over  there 
as  here.  Give  Mis'  Henderson  me  love,  an' 
ye  needn't  come  back  till  Oi  blow  the  horn." 

It  was  irrevocable.  Fate,  in  the  shape  of 
a  ponderous  form  and  a  broad,  homely  face 
dealt  thus  with  these  two  dependent  little  hu- 
man beings.  Forth  into  the  fog  they  went 


IMPULSES  91 

bearing  colored  paper  and  the  Arithmetic  book 
to  Mis'  Henderson's. 

"Poor  children !"  sighed  Alice.  "It's  a 
shame  to  send  them  away." 

"Don't  ye  be  botherin'.  They'll  be  better 
off  there  fer  a  bit.  What's  gone  wrong, 
girl?" 

"Eat  your  supper,  please,  Maisie."  Alice 
roused  herself  with  an  effort  and  pushed  the 
woman  toward  an  uninviting  heap  of  food  on 
a  tin  plate  which  with  a  cup  of  coffee  Maggie 
had  placed  on  the  table. 

"How  dreadful  of  me!  I  should  have 
cooked  you  something  fresh." 

As  she  talked  Alice  relieved  Maisie  of  the 
green  feather  with  its  accompanying  shred  of 
straw,  and  drew  off  her  dingy  brown  jacket. 

"Phew!"  said  Maisie  with  a  sound  be- 
tween a  puff  and  a  sigh.  "Oi'm  not  hungry. 
Oi'll  jist  pick  it  over  a  little." 

While  she  ate,  Maisie  regarded  Alice  curi- 
ously, and  soon  pushed  aside  her  plate. 

"Let's  come  ter  bizness.  Did  ye  git  let 
out?" 

Alice  nodded.  "I— I  let  myself  out.  Oh, 
Maisie,  it's  the  same  old  story!  I  thought  it 
was  going  to  be  a  good  place.  The  work  was 
just  about  right  for  me — not  too  hard, — and  I 
thought  he  was  going  to  be  square.  But  this 


92  IMPULSES 

afternoon — "her  voice  grew  bitter — "he  said 
he  wanted  to  make  a  lady  of  me.  Well,  I  knew 
what  that  meant,  so  I  came  home." 

Maisie's  expression  grew  menacing.  "Oi'd 
loike  ter  be  at  'im !"  she  muttered. 

"I've  never  been  anything  but  a  trouble  to 
you  since  the  day  you  brought  me  home.  Let 
me  go,  Maisie — nobody  wants  me  in  this 
world;  even  my  baby  was  taken  from  me!" 

"Hush,  child,  don't  ye  be  talkin'  truck! 
Did  ye  git  a  letter  terday?" 

"Yes."  Alice  produced  the  letter,  a  brief 
one,  written  in  an  English  hand. 

Maisie  pored  over  it  a  moment  with  puz- 
zled brows.  "Ye  moight  as  well  tell  me  what 
it  says.  Oi  can't  mek  head  nor  tail  o'  these 
sprawly  words,"  she  finally  admitted. 

Short  as  the  letter  was  it  contained  the 
tragedy  of  one  human  being's  life — possibly 
that  of  another. 

In  highly  cultivated  diction  it  set  forth 
that  in  view  of  the  recipient  having  married 
the  writer's  only  son  in  total  disregard  of  his 
parents'  wishes,  the  said  parents  utterly  re- 
fused to  recognize  the  son's  widow.  The  son 
had  ceased  to  exist  for  them  when  he  married 
her.  She  was  less  than  nothing  to  them.  As 
it  had  come  to  their  knowledge,  however,  that 
she  had  brought  an  innocent  child  into  the 


IMPULSES  93 

world,  they  were  bound  in  family  honor,  it 
being  a  boy,  to  take  the  child  and  bring  him 
up  in  his  English  birthright.  The  writer  was 
glad  to  state  that  the  infant  had  arrived  safely 
in  the  care  of  the  trained  nurse  sent  out  for 
him,  and  was  now  thriving  under  proper 
nourishment  and  wise  discipline.  Despite  the 
unfortunate  beginning  of  his  young  life  the 
writer  trusted  that  in  the  child  was  the  mak- 
ing of  a  loyal  British  subject. 

No  more  communications  were  desired 
from  his  mother.  The  family  wished  to  for- 
get as  far  as  possible  that  such  a  person  had 
ever  existed.  Having  so  independently  ar- 
ranged the  details  of  her  own  life  in  the  past, 
she,  no  doubt,  was  highly  competent  to  con- 
duct her  future  in  a  satisfactory  manner. 
Hoping  that  this  would  be  the  last  time  that 
the  writer  would  be  compelled  to  address  her, 
she  signed  herself — et  cetera — . 

By  adopting  a  monotonous  tone  Alice  was 
able  to  read  aloud  the  heartless  mandate  to  the 
end.  It  repeated  only  what  former  letters  had 
contained,  but  this  one,  in  its  hardness,  crys- 
tallized her  life's  tragedy.  Her  husband  dead 
— her  child  taken  from  her — her  health  a 
slender  thing,  unable  to  stand  a  full  day's 
work — what  was  there  left  for  Alice? 


94  IMPULSES 

"He  loved  me  so — he  loved  me  so — and 
they  cast  me  out!"  she  sobbed. 

"There,  there,  child,  there's  no  good  iver 
comes  o'  cryin'!  Sure  there's  enough  mud 
aroun'  now  widout  addin'  ter  it." 

"I  know,  I  know.  But  I'm  so  tired  of  try- 
ing. I  can't  help  it." 

"Ye  cudn't  try  the  Emporium  again,  cud 
ye?  But,  of  course  ye  cudn't." 

"I'm  afraid  not.  I'm  not  so  strong  now  as 
I  was  before  baby  came,  when  I  had  to  quit 
work  there.  Let  me  go  around  with  you, 
Maisie,  and  help  you  with  your  work.  Couldn't 
I  do  that?" 

"Ye  moight — ye  moight.  But  there's 
places  my  ugly  old  mug  kin  go  where  yours 
would  be  sorter  out  o'  place." 

"Oh,  Maisie,  don't!  I  love  your  dear 
face." 

"Huh!"  grunted  Maisie,  only  partially 
convinced. 

"You'll  have  to  find  new  customers,  while 
I  can  go  to  some  of  the  old,  can't  I?" 

"Oi'll  see.  Rest  ternight,  girlie,  an'  don't 
ye  worry.  Jist  go  out  an'  blow  that  horn  fer 
the  childern,  will  ye?" 

Next  moment  the  dismal  wail  of  a  fish- 
horn  sounded  from  the  front  porch,  a  familiar 
call  on  the  hill  for  Maggie  and  Bobby,  soon 


IMPULSES  95 

bringing  them  home,  sleepy,  but  with  exam- 
ples done  and  mats  woven  for  the  morrow. 

Through  the  long  night  hours  Maisie  lay 
awake.  Out  in  the  channel  at  regular  inter- 
vals the  fog-horn  sounded  its  doleful  warning 
to  dependent  vessels.  Toward  morning  its 
solemn  tones  became  a  part  of  her  fitful 
dreams. 

"Wouldn't  it  be  foine,"  she  thought,  with 
her  rough  philosophy,  "if  somebody'd  blow  a 
horn  at  us  ivery  toime  we're  goin'  wrong,  an' 
tell  us  what  ter  do !" 

Maisie  never  stopped  to  worry  over  her 
own  troubles  during  the  day,  but  often  they 
caught  her,  too  weary  for  sleep,  in  the  middle 
of  the  night,  and  forced  her  attention;  usu- 
ally, as  now,  in  connection  with  someone  else. 

Could  she  give  up  a  portion  of  her  trade 
to  Alice?  After  the  experience  with  young 
Kennedy  and  other  similar  ones  it  would  be 
wise  to  allow  the  girl  to  go  about  only  among 
the  better  class  of  customers. 

Alice  could  not  stand  the  rough  element; 
the  vile  talk,  the  insults,  to  which  Maisie  was 
impervious.  For  a  year  or  so  Maisie's  trade 
had  carried  her  more  and  more  among  "the 
swells."  She  was  proud  of  the  fact.  To  her 
it  meant  a  distinct  rise  in  "bizness,"  and  she 
looked  forward  to  the  time  when  she  could 


96  IMPULSES 

drop  the  rougher  places  altogether.  Yet  some 
of  the  frequenters  of  these  were  her  staunch 
friends,  no  one  of  whom  would  not  say  a  good 
word  for  her  when  necessary.  But  "bizness 
was  bizness"  with  Maisie,  and  recently  it  had 
become  easier  to  dispose  of  a  certain  portion 
of  her  wares,  for  which  shoe-strings,  collar- 
buttons,  and  various  other  trifles,  were  only  a 
shield,  among  the  so-called  better  classes. 

There  was  pride  concerning  her  "chil- 
dern"  in  this.  When  Mag  and  little  Bobby 
were  older  they  need  not  look  back  upon  any- 
thing of  which  to  be  ashamed  in  their  moth- 
er's occupation.  Thus  the  ignorant,  hard- 
working woman  reasoned.  Although  she  well 
knew  that  honest  hearts  often  masqueraded  in 
rough  places  under  the  guise  of  poverty,  and 
that  immaculate  shirt-fronts  hid  some  of  the 
vilest,  yet  respectability  and  success  place 
their  stamp  of  approval  upon  the  well  set-up 
man.  Among  these  trade  was  both  better  and 
pleasanter. 

At  present  the  children  were  well  cared 
for.  One  of  the  charitable  institutions  estab- 
lished for  their  kind  took  charge  of  them  dur- 
ing the  hours  between  their  dismissal  from 
school  and  dark.  Maisie  daily  threw  up  her 
hands  in  surprise  at  the  cleanly,  kindergarten 
habits  her  small  son  brought  into  the  home. 


IMPULSES  97 

Was  she  now  to  put  a  check  on  all  this?  Must 
she  lessen  the  sum  of  her  earnings,  and  with 
extra  toil  seek  a  new  route? 

Toward  morning  she  slept  lightly,  and  the 
fate  of  Alice  and  her  own  children  seemed 
balancing  in  a  hugh  pair  of  scales  out  in  the 
channel.  The  fog-horn  marked  the  over- 
weight— first  on  one  side,  then  on  the  other. 
Two  against  one — Alice  against  her  own  chil- 
dren— so  the  changing  tide  and  the  doleful 
horn  sent  them  up — and  down — these  three 
dependents  upon  her  decision. 

Morning's  clear  sunlight  dispelled  the  fog, 
also  her  own  uncertainty.  Her  course  was 
decided. 

"Ye'd  best  come  along  wid  me,"  she  an- 
nounced to  Alice  while  they  were  eating  their 
breakfast.  "Oi've  been  a-thinkin'  of  it  out, 
an'  it'll  be  a  rale  help  ter  have  ye  take  some  o' 
me  calls.  There's  the  steamers  comin'  in  an' 
out,  an'  the  manny,  manny  calls  at  the  offi- 
ces." 

"But  these  are  your  best  places,  Maisie, 
you  mustn't — " 

"Och,  sure,  Oi  kin  get  plenty  more !  Niver 
ye  moind." 

Alice  finished  her  breakfast  in  silence. 
Quietly  she  helped  to  put  the  tiny  house  in 
order,  and  sent  two  neat  children  to  school. 


98  IMPULSES 

Then  she  and  Maisie  set  forth  to  the  day's 
work.  Up  and  down,  in  and  out  they  went, 
a  strangely  matched  pair.  Gradually  under 
the  invigorating  rays  of  the  summer  sun  the 
green  feather  perked  up  and  added  an  air  of 
jauntiness  to  its  owner's  step. 

Alice  soon  became  weary,  and  by  twelve 
o'clock  was  ready  to  join  the  throng  of  work- 
ing-women who  daily  congregate  in  the  ferry 
building  to  eat  their  noonday  meal.  Another 
innovation  for  Maisie!  For  without  Alice 
could  she  not  have  carried  her  own  hunk  of 
bread  and  cheese  to  any  nearby  "joint"  and 
drained  a  mug  of  beer  in  free  fellowship  and 
comfort? 

Many  tired  women  sat  furtively  eating, 
sometimes  talking  in  groups  of  three  or  four, 
but  always  with  the  hushed  air  of  expecting 
the  next  moment  to  be  asked  to  move  on. 

Maisie  was  jubilant  over  her  morning's 
success.  Many  of  her  customers  had  taken 
kindly  to  Alice  and  had  promised  to  give  her 
the  same  consideration  which  they  had  given 
her.  Maisie's  shrewd  eyes  had  noted  every 
sign  of  undue  interest  in  the  girl,  and  some  of 
the  names  had  been  withdrawn  from  Alice's 
list  with  prompt  decision.  The  majority  re- 
mained, and  on  the  whole  the  morning  had 
been  a  promising  one. 


IMPULSES  99 

"Yell  soon  git  used  ter  the  trampin',"  said 
Maisie  when  the  noon  hour  was  past  "Come 
along,  we'll  be  movin'." 

Thus  it  happened  that  at  the  foot  of  the 
great  stairway  Sandy  met  them  as  he  came  off 
the  ferry-boat.  When  one  is  hastening  to 
catch  the  only  car  for  ten  minutes  which  will 
suit  one's  purpose  it  tries  a  man's  temper  to 
collide  with  even  the  fairest  of  earth's  crea- 
tures, but  when  the  object  is  one  of  loathing 
the  situation  becomes  decidedly  tense. 

Sandy  glared  at  the  green  feather  with 
prompt  recognition.  His  lips  framed  a  heart- 
felt malediction,  prevented  from  utterance  by 
a  glimpse  of  Alice's  delicate  face ;  then  he  hur- 
ried on. 

"That  man  hates  me  loike  poison,"  said 
Maisie,  defiantly  shrugging  her  shoulders  in 
Sandy's  direction. 

"Who  is  he?" 

"Oi  dunno.  Oi  guess  he  ain't  so  much  his- 
self."  Maisie  straightened  her  hat  and 
glanced  a  question  of  her  companion. 

"Yes,  it's  all  right,"  fibbed  Alice. 

"Oi  run  inter  'im  last  night.  He  was  wid 
that  young  Prescott,  ye  know,  offen  the  'Mon- 
golia.' " 

"Oh,  Mr.  Prescott?  Is  he  a  friend  of  his, 
I  wonder!" 


100  IMPULSES 

"Seems  ter  be." 

"I  didn't  tell  you  that  I  used  to  know  Mr. 
Prescott  years  ago  at  home,  Maisie.  His  fam- 
ily lived  near  mine.  He  was  a  big  boy  when 
I  was  a  little  girl." 

"Hm!— Is  that  so?  Why  didn't  ye  inter- 
juce  yerself  that  day  when  I  tuk  ye  on  board 
instead  o'  standin'  aroun'  so  dumb-like?" 

"He  wouldn't  want  to  know  me  now,"  pro- 
tested Alice  shyly. 

"Now,  luk  ahere,  girl,  Oi  ain't  advisin'  ye 
ter  be  too  bold,  but  Oi  tell  ye  it  takes  a  lot  o' 
gall  ter  git  along  in  this  wurrld,  an'  ye've  jist 
got  ter  luk  out  fer  yer  chanstes  wherever  they 
be.  Us  humans  is  jist  shufflin'  'roun  in  a  big 
game  anyway,  same's  these  lottery  tickets  is 
shuffled  when  people  buy  one.  They  all  has 
their  different  ways  o'  takin'  a  chanst — some 
counts,  an'  some  spits  on  their  han's — but 
they  kin  never  tell  when  they're  goin'  ter  draw 
a  prize.  It's  a  hell  of  a  game,  beggin'  yer  par- 
don, but  it  is,  fer  sure!" 

"I  know,  I  know.  I  make  up  my  mind  so 
often  that  I  am  not  going  to  care  what  any- 
one says,  and  just  keep  on  trying — but — " 

Alice's  blue  eyes  grew  dim.  She  thought 
of  a  husband  dead,  of  months  of  ill-health,  of 
a  baby  in  a  far-distant  land  who  would  grow 
up  a  stranger  to  her,  from  whom  birth  had 


I  M  P  U  L  S  E-S 

been  given.  Certainly  her  prizes  had  been 
few  in  this  great  game  of  which  Maisie  spoke. 

Prizes?  Her  eyes  cleared  and  she  gazed 
at  the  rugged  form  trudging  beside  her. 
Where  would  she  have  been  without  this 
woman's  friendship?  Maisie  herself  would 
have  been  more  astonished  than  anyone  else 
had  she  been  told  that  she  was  Alice's  great- 
est prize  drawn  out  of  the  human  lottery.  Yet, 
so  she  was. 

After  a  few  minutes'  walk  they  came  to 
the  ocean  steamer  wharves,  where  several  lin- 
ers were  docking,  and  the  two  women  became 
a  part  of  the  busy  scene.  Alice's  fatigue  was 
forgotten.  Her  cheeks  grew  pink,  and  her 
eyes  bright  with  excitement  as  she  learned  her 
lessons. 

Maisie  sized  up  situations  with  a  practiced 
eye.  "Jist  watch  me!"  she  adjured  her  com- 
panion. 

She  was  familiar  with  every  sign  which 
brought  customers  to  her. 

Among  the  passengers,  the  smoking-room 
gambler  must  be  approached  in  an  altogether 
different  fashion  from  the  "Social  Hall"  card 
player.  From  their  walk  down  the  gang- 
plank she  judged  whether  their  pockets  were 
full  or  empty,  and  by  keeping  her  keen  ears 
open  to  conversations  between  custom  officials 


S62  IMPULSES 

and  would-be  smugglers,  she  often  spotted  her 
best  patrons.  "Second  Cabins"  and  "Steer- 
ages," she  had  discovered,  turned  more  of 
their  cash  into  her  bag  than  "First  Cabins," 
but  Maisie  never  enjoyed  making  sales  in  the 
steerage.  It  was  there  that  she  pressed  her 
sales  of  buttons  and  shoe-strings  in  preference 
to  taking  money  from  these  poor  people.  The 
richer  ones — well,  they  knew  what  they  were 
about.  Let  them  take  their  chances. 

Every  now  and  then  she  introduced  Alice 
to  an  old  customer  and  explained  how  her  own 
work  was  "gittin'  most  too  much  for  her,  and 
she'd  taken  on  an  assistant." 

Toward  the  latter  part  of  the  afternoon 
they  reached  the  great  China  steamer  where 
it  lay  unloading  its  cargo.  On  the  saloon  deck 
stood  Second  Officer  Prescott,  for  he  was  ex- 
pecting some  visitors  at  four  o'clock.  Near 
him,  lounging  against  the  rail,  was  Sandy,  his 
interest  centered  in  the  busy  scene  below. 

"Hello,  Maisie!  How  goes  it?"  called 
Prescott,  as  the  women  came  near. 

Maisie  nodded.  "Foine,  sir.  How's  yer- 
self?" 

Alice  glanced  up  at  the  two  men,  her  shy 
nod  including  them  both,  and  Sandy,  with  a 
start,  discovered  himself  returning  it. 


IMPULSES  103 

"How's  business?"  continued  Prescott. 
"Wait  a  minute,  I'm  coming  down." 

Maisie's  explanation  to  him  as  to  her 
change  of  route  was  nonchalant  and  elabor- 
ate, yet  failed  to  be  convincing. 

"See  here,  I'm  not  much  on  for  this  plan," 
he  announced,  eyeing  Alice  doubtfully. 

The  latter  colored  under  his  gaze.  What 
right  had  he  to  object?  Secretly  she  was  glad. 

"It  takes  a — a  Maisie,"  went  on  Prescott, 
"to  stand  the  hard  knocks  of  a  pedlar's  life." 

"Sure  Oi've  made  a  picked  list  fer  Alice," 
interposed  her  manager  proudly.  "What's 
this  ye  call  it?  It's — it's — expurggated,  it  is. 
Sure  me  bizness  is  so  big  Oi  cud  niver  manage 
the  half  of  it  anny  more." 

Again  the  young  officer  eyed  her  keenly. 
He  saw  through  her  little  ruse,  and  he  paid 
tribute  to  the  big,  kind  heart  which  prompted 
it. 

"You're  a  trump,  Maisie.  May  I  look  over 
the  list?" 

"Here  it  is,"  said  Alice,  giving  him  a  small 
memorandum  book  from  her  shabby  bag. 

Prescott  wished  to  talk  over  this  matter 
with  Maisie.  There  were  some  things  he 
wanted  to  say  to  her  which  were  not  suitable 
for  Alice's  pretty  ears.  How  could  it  be  man- 


104  IMPULSES 

aged?  Glancing  up  he  saw  Sandy,  still  intent 
upon  the  group  of  busy  workmen  below.  How 
many  stories  he  had  read  in  their  grimy  faces 
only  Sandy  knew. 

From  time  to  time  the  wind  wafted  the 
sound  of  Prescott's  and  the  women's  voices  up 
to  him,  but  a  characteristic  fit  of  contrariness 
was  upon  him,  and  he  preferred  to  ignore 
Prescott's  visitors.  The  annoyance  of  the  en- 
counter at  the  ferry  still  rankled.  Suddenly 
his  friend's  voice  was  directed  toward  him. 

"Sandy,  ahoy !"  he  shouted.  "I  wish  you'd 
come  down  here.  I  want  you  to  meet  some 
friends  of  mine." 

A  devil  of  mischief  possessed  him.  He  de- 
liberately braved  the  reckoning  which  he 
knew  would  be  his  later.  Sandy's  look  of  grim 
surprise  furnished  the  young  officer  with 
enough  amusement  at  the  present  moment  to 
compensate  for  future  misery. 

Sandy  did  not  hurry,  but  in  due  time,  with 
only  partially  concealed  ire,  he  joined  the 
group. 

Prescott  presented  him  with  ceremony, 
but  came  to  a  surprised  halt  over  Maisie's 
name.  "Mrs. — Mrs. — ,"  he  stammered. 

She  laughed  good-naturedly.  "Och,  cut 
out  the  Missis!  Iverybody  calls  me  Maisie. 
Sure,  they've  all  fergotten  the  rest,  includin' 


IMPULSES  105 

meself!" 

In  spite  of  himself,  Sandy  smiled.  Could 
there  be,  after  all,  something  more  to  the 
woman  than  the  green  feather  and  the  lot- 
tery tickets? 

But  what  was  this  which  that  fiend, 
Prescott,  was  saying? 

"Miss  Alice  is  interested  in  steamers,  San- 
dy. Suppose  you  show  her  over  the  quarters 
a  bit  while  I  have  a  business  deal  with 
Maisie." 

Alice  doubtfully  surveyed  her  proposed  es- 
cort, but  Sandy,  always  ready  for  the  unex- 
pected, took  the  dare.  It  only  elaborated  the 
details  of  the  day  of  reckoning  for  Prescott. 

"With  pleasure,"  he  answered,  to  Alice's 
surprise,  and  together  they  ascended  the 
gangway  and  disappeared,  leaving  Prescott 
and  Maisie  to  arrange  the  girPs  future  be- 
tween them. 

On  board  the  great  steamer  a  busy  crew 
was  scrubbing  and  cleaning,  putting  every- 
thing in  order  for  sailing.  Sandy  conducted 
the  girl  up  and  down  companionways,  through 
"Social  Hall"  and  dining  saloon,  with  few 
comments. 

Several  of  the  state-rooms  also  came  in  for 
inspection  as  well  as  two  or  three  of  the  offi- 
cers' apartments.  They  paused  at  the  door  of 


106  IMPULSES 

the  Second  Officer's  cabin.  It  stood  open. 
Alice  looked  in  with  curious  eyes. 

It  was  a  gay  little  place,  hung  with 
streamers,  posters,  photographs,  and  other 
sentimental  mementos  from  many  climes. 

"Is — is  he  married?"  she  asked,  curiosity 
getting  the  better  of  her  timidity. 

"Not  he!  He's  the  typical  sailor,  a  sweet- 
heart in  every  port." 

"Oh!"  Alice  involuntarily  stepped  for- 
ward. Across  the  narrow  cabin  she  could  see 
distinctly  a  row  of  photographs  on  the  mirror 
shelf  above  the  dresser.  The  central  picture 
was  a  tiny  old-fashioned  one  of  a  little  girl 
about  five  years  old.  A  pretty  wooden  frame 
encircled  it,  and  at  the  top  the  words,  "My 
Mascot,"  shone  in  gold. 

"Oh!"  again  exclaimed  Alice,  and  sat 
down  quickly  on  the  divan  under  the  porthole. 

"Eh?"  questioned  Sandy,  alarmed.  He 
did  not  favor  the  idea  of  a  fainting  girl  on  his 
hands. 

"He  does  remember  me,"  Sandy  thought 
he  heard  Alice  say,  but  he  could  not  be  sure. 
The  girl  composed  herself  quickly,  and  with- 
out another  look  at  the  photograph  left  the 
cabin  followed  by  a  puzzled  escort.  Sandy 
said  nothing  until  they  reached  the  "Social 
Hall"  again  which  was  now  deserted. 


IMPULSES  107 

"Something  is  troubling  you.  Can  I  do 
anything?"  he  asked. 

Sandy's  voice  could  be  very  kind.  It  was 
so  now,  holding  a  note  of  encouragement 
which  was  irresistible.  All  at  once  Alice 
found  herself  pouring  a  torrent  of  confidences 
into  his  willing  ears.  Somehow  people  always 
did  confide  in  Sandy  when  he  was  willing. 

She  did  not  tell  him  why,  but  the  sight  of 
the  little  framed  photograph  on  Prescott's 
dresser  had  started  a  chain  of  memories  in  the 
girl's  mind.  Seated  there  in  the  quiet  saloon 
of  the  great  ocean  liner,  she  narrated  in  brief, 
excited  sentences,  the  important  events  of  her 
life.  Her  account  of  the  unhappiness  of  the 
past  three  years  ending  in  the  goodness  of 
Maisie  was  somewhat  jumbled.  Sandy  tried 
to  pin  her  down  to  facts,  not  understanding 
the  reason  of  her  strange  excitement,  and 
finally  succeeded. 

He  listened  to  an  unusual  eulogy  from  a 
girl  of  Alice's  refined,  sensitive  character  on 
a  woman  of  Maisie's  type.  He  was  told  of  the 
harsh  treatment  received  from  the  relatives- 
in-law  in  England,  and  how,  but  for  Maisie's 
sheltering  wing,  Alice  would  have  been  home- 
less. 

Sandy  heard  all  this  in  a  daze  of  revulsion. 


108  IMPULSES 

He  was  assailed  by  self -accusing  thoughts,  yet 
at  each  one  he  retreated  behind  a  barricade 
composed  of  a  flaunting  green  feather  and  a 
bunch  of  lottery  tickets. 

"And  I'll  start  out  alone  tomorrow.  She 
has  given  me  a  list  of  names,  and  I'm  going  to 
help  her  all  I  can,  selling  buttons  and  tape, 
and — er — tickets,"  he  heard. 

"You  are?"  he  shouted,  sadly  beset.  His 
voice,  resounding  through  the  quiet  saloon, 
struck  Prescott,  entering,  with  alarm. 

"What's  the  matter?"  he  cried. 

"Oh,  nothing!  We  are  just  coming  out. 
Miss  Alice  has  seen  enough." 

Prescott  regarded  them  intently,  and 
Alice's  gaze  dropped  before  his.  How  could 
she  summon  up  the  courage  to  "interjuce" 
herself  as  Maisie  had  suggested!  In  great 
trepidation  she  went  down  on  to  the  pier  fol- 
lowed by  the  two  men.  All  the  way  she  felt 
the  eyes  of  the  young  officer  upon  her,  and 
sensed  an  approaching  climax.  Maisie  was 
waiting  for  them,  and  lost  no  time  in  bring- 
ing the  situation  to  a  head. 

"Alice  has  a  little  surprise  fer  ye,  Mr. 
Prescott,"  she  announced. 

The  girl  looked  at  her  appealingly  but 
Maisie  relentlessly  continued,  a  beaming  smile 
illuminating  her  broad,  Irish  face. 


IMPULSES  109 

"Tell  'im  yer  family  name,  girl;  let's  see 
if  he  has  anny  memory  left  o'  the  old  days." 

Alice  had  few  words  at  her  command  just 
then,  and  they  came  haltingly.  "I'm — I'm — 
Alice  Leslie— Phil." 

Prescott  gazed  at  her  with  stupefaction. 
Then  a  great  burst  of  light  staggered  him. 
How  had  he  been  so  stupid !  In  that  moment 
he  knew  the  why  of  his  ever-increasing  inter- 
est in  Maisie's  protegee. 

"Alice !"  he  cried.  "Why,  of  course  you're 
Alice!  What  an  idiot  I've  been  not  to  know 
you  all  along!" 

"Why — should  you  remember  me?  It's 
been  so  long — and  I  have  changed — and — " 

"Changed!  Why,  Alice,  you  haven't 
changed  a  bit,  now  that  my  eyes  are  open.  Do 
you  know  what  you've  done  all  these  years? 
You've  traveled  around  the  world  with  me  and 
been  my  mascot!" 

Sandy  had  fears  for  his  friend's  sanity, 
but  Alice  understood  and  smiled  happily. 

"That  silly  little  photo !  Fancy  your  keep- 
ing it  all  this  time!" 

There  was  much  more  to  be  said,  but  just 
then  a  party  of  people  with  great  chatter  and 
laughter  alighted  from  a  machine  at  the  head 
of  the  pier. 


110  IMPULSES 

"Hang  it  all,  there's  my  company!"  grum- 
bled Prescott. 

Sandy's  self-satisfied  world  was  tumbling 
topsy-turvy.  Usually  he  was  the  rebel  against 
social  functions,  and  now  behold  the  hospit- 
able Second  Officer  repudiating  invited 
guests ! 

"I'll  see  you  this  evening,"  Prescott  hastily 
continued.  "My  friends  are  here;  you  will 
have  to  excuse  me  now." 

As  Maisie  and  Alice  left  the  pier  the  sound 
of  gay  greetings  came  to  them,  and  the  girl's 
heart  grew  heavy;  yet  through  her  sadness 
one  happy  thought  came.  After  all  she  was 
not  altogether  forgotten.  While  the  world 
had  given  her  above  the  average  share  of  mis- 
fortune, all  unknown  to  herself  she  had  lived 
in  someone's  life  under  the  magic  title  of 
"Mascot!" 

Later,  when  Prescott  thought  that  the 
time  for  his  settlement  with  Sandy  had  come, 
he  found  that  individual  strangely  non-com- 
mittal. He  made  little  comment  while  Pres- 
cott narrated  many  incidents  concerning  the 
child,  Alice,  and  himself  during  their  early 
years. 

"They  moved  away;  her  father  met  with 
reverses,  and  we  lost  all  trace  of  them.  I  sup- 
pose they  had  a  lot  of  pride  and  sort  of  lost 


IMPULSES  111 


their  grip  on  the  world.    I've  never  forgotten 
my  little  chum." 

He  was  standing  in  front  of  the  mirror  as 
he  spoke,  and  picked  up  his  mascot's  picture. 

"Oh!"  ejaculated  Sandy,  comprehending 
at  last  Alice's  sudden  collapse  in  Prescott's 
cabin. 

"Yes,"  continued  his  friend  dreamily, 
even  used  to  call  her  my  little  sweetheart,  but 
now — of  course — " 

"But  now — of  course!"  gibed  Sandy. 

The  settlement  came  then,  and  pillows  and 
divan  cushions  were  the  chief  weapons,  but 
books  and  other  handy  trifles  were  also  used 
until  two  breathless  combatants  cried  "quits!" 

That  evening  Prescott  and  Sandy  called  at 
the  shabby  little  cottage  on  the  hill.  Over  the 
channel  not  a  trace  of  fog  lingered.  The  dole- 
ful voice  of  the  horn  was  silent.  The  scales 
were  evenly  balanced  that  night,  and  tired 
Maisie  slept  soundly. 

Next  morning  in  spite  of  opposition  Alice 
started  out  alone  on  her  new  business  venture. 

Three  months  later  the  "Mongolia"  was 
again  in  port.  Sandy  and  Philip  Prescott 
were  enjoying  their  usual  quarterly  period  of 
comradeship,  yet  the  latter  was  unaccountably 
busy  at  times  over  matters  which  took  him 
away  from  his  friend. 


112  IMPULSES 

On  the  third  morning  Sandy  received  a 
telephone  message  at  the  office.  Prescott's 
voice  greeted  him. 

"Hello!  That  you,  Sandy?— Say,  I  want 
you  to  have  a  quiet  little  wedding  in  your 
rooms  tonight." 

"Wed — ?"  gasped  the  amazed  Sandy. 

"Yes,  Alice  and  I  are  going  to  be  married. 
We'll  go  away  into  the  country  for  a  few  days. 
I've  got  a  transfer  from  the  home  office  for  a 
commission  on  another  route,  so  next  week 
we're  going  to  sail  as  guests  on  my  own  ship." 

"B — but — !"  stammered  Sandy. 

"We'll  have  the  ceremony  about  eight 
o'clock ;  and,  I  say,  old  man,  I'll  depend  upon 
you  to  bring  Maisie.  No  other  guests.  So 
long!" 

Sandy  fell  away  from  the  receiver  bereft 
of  speech  and  consecutive  thought.  All  that 
day  life's  perplexities  whirled  through  his 
brain.  He  yielded  up  his  apartment  as  though 
weddings  were  nightly  occurrences  therein, 
and  stood  by  dumbly  watching  the  few  neces- 
sary preparations  taking  place.  He  was  los- 
ing his  friend.  One  big  protest  was  in  his 
heart.  It  included  Alice,  weddings,  and  above 
all,  Maisie. 

Seven-thirty,  nevertheless,  found  him  and 
Maisie  walking  toward  his  apartment.  It 


IMPULSES  113 

was  a  considerable  distance  from  the  shabby 
little  cottage,  yet  Sandy  chose  to  walk.  The 
green  feather  had  decided  the  matter.  To  en- 
ter a  street  car  in  company  with  that  flaunt- 
ing plume  was  one  step  further  than  his  pres- 
ent state  of  mind  could  carry  him.  Then — 
suppose  the  Blue-Eyed  Lady  should  happen  to 
see  them !  How  could  he  ever  explain ! 

"If  she  wears  that  feather  tonight/'  he 
had  thought  earlier  in  the  day,  "we  walkl 
Otherwise — " 

So  seven-thirty  discovered  them  trudging 
companionably  down  the  hill. 

To  the  green  feather  Maisie  had  added  a 
cerise  pompom.  This,  she  thought,  gave  an 
appropriate  touch  to  the  present  festive  occa- 
sion. A  pair  of  cheap  white  gloves  covered 
her  capable  red  hands.  Maisie  was  quite  pre- 
pared to  do  honor  to  her  friends. 

Half  an  hour  later  Alice  took  another 
chance  in  the  great  Human  Lottery.  Simul- 
taneously Prescott  took  his  also. 

"Why  didn't  you  try  long  ago  to  get  a  bet- 
ter job,  Maisie?"  asked  Sandy,  as  they  walked 
away  after  toasting  an  exceedingly  happy 
pair. 

Maisie  had  mentioned  having  to  take  up 
Alice's  work  again  herself. 


114  IMPULSES 

She  looked  at  him  with  mild  scorn.  The 
green  feather  trembled. 

"Sure,  Oi  guess  whin  ye've  got  two  young 
uns  yellin'  around  fer  food  ye  ain't  got  much 
toime  ter  wait  fer  a  swell  job  ter  come  yer 
way.  Oi  had  ter  take  the  first  chanst  Oi  got. 
It  paid  well,  an'  Oi  kep'  it.  Oi  don't  fool  no- 
body. Whin  my  ole  man  played  me  the  scurvy 
trick  an'  run  off  Oi  niver  had  no  toime  ter 
choose.  The  chanst  jist  came  an'  Oi  tuk  it. 
Life's  jist  all  a  big  chanst,  ain't  it,  Mr.  Sandy? 
May&ee  a  better  wan'll  come  me  way  some 
day!" 

All  green  feather  and  lottery  ticket  bar- 
riers toppled  and  were  strewn  behind  them  as 
they  climbed  the  hill,  and  Sandy  said  "good- 
night" at  Maisie's  door  with  more  respect 
than  he  would  have  paid  royalty. 

Slowly  he  walked  away  again  to  his  now 
deserted  apartment  pondering  these  truths  in 
his  heart 

A  week  later  the  "Mongolia"  steamed 
through  the  Golden  Gate.  On  board  were  Sec- 
ond Officer  Prescott  and  his  living  "Mascot," 
while  once  more  the  green  feather  appeared, 
fluttering  up  and  down  the  docks  of  incoming 
and  outgoing  vessels. 


"AND  A  LITTLE  CHILD  SHALL 
LEAD  THEM" 

Late  one  afternoon  a  pale  young  woman 
sat  at  an  upper  window  in  an  apartment- 
house  near  the  outskirts  of  the  city.  The  light 
was  fading,  and  she  moved  closer  and  closer 
to  the  pane  to  catch  the  last  rays  of  light  on 
her  sewing.  Under  her  clever  fingers  a  fash- 
ionable outfit  for  a  cheap  doll  was  nearing 
completion. 

Finally  she  held  up  the  result,  balanced 
on  her  hand,  surveying  it  with  a  weary  smile 
of  satisfaction.  Bless  the  kiddie,  how  her 
eyes  would  shine  when  she  saw  it!  Think  of 
her  being  five  years  old  day  after  tomorrow ! 
How  the  months  and  years  had  flown  since 
those  dread  days  preceding  the  baby's  coming, 
when  the  future  had  looked  so  hopeless ! 

Just  now  the  outlook  was  not  altogether 
promising  either,  but  she  was  feeling  stronger 
the  last  day  or  so,  and  soon  she  hoped  to  be 
able  to  resume  work.  While  the  young  wom- 
an twirled  on  her  fingers,  with  all  the  pleas- 


116  IMPULSES 

ure  of  a  girl,  the  dainty  little  figure  of  her 
creation,  the  room  door  opened,  and  an  older 
woman,  clothed  in  street  attire,  entered. 

"Hello,  Rosie!  Why  are  you  home  so 
early?  What's  up?" 

"Nothing  much.  I  just  thought  Fd  run 
out  and  see  how  you  were  getting  along.  How 
goes  it,  Blue?" 

"I'm  fine,"  answered  the  other,  her  words 
belied  by  the  weariness  with  which  she  leaned 
back  in  her  chair,  the  doll  slipping  from  her 
limp  hand. 

"See  here,"  scolded  Rosie,  "didn't  I  tell 
you  to  keep  quiet  and  not  be  working  over 
that  fool  stuff?" 

Rosie  brushed  the  doll  aside,  and  stood 
over  the  girl  she  called  "Blue,"  looking  down 
at  her  with  half -reproachful,  half -loving  eyes. 

"Now,  Rosie,  quit  your  bluffing,"  smiled 
Blue  Belle  wanly.  "You  know  I  had  to  finish 
that,  or  Daisy  wouldn't  have  any  birthday 
present." 

"When's  the  kid's  birthday?"  demanded 
the  other. 

"Day  after  tomorrow." 

"Is  that  so?  Well,  there's  no  use  o'  your 
giving  her  a  funeral  for  a  birthday  present. 
Listen!  Come  along  over  here  and  lie  down 
and  quit  your  nonsense !" 


IMPULSES  117 

Half  lifting  the  weak  form,  Rosie  Myers, 
cabaret  dancer  and  entertainer  of  sorts,  led 
Blue  Belle  to  the  bed.  Making  her  lie  down, 
she  threw  a  light  spread  over  her,  then  began 
laying  aside  her  own  outdoor  garments. 

"I  don't  know  yet  why  you're  home  so 
early,"  said  Blue  Belle. 

"Humph!  Henderson's  on  the  tirade 
again.  He  don't  believe  you've  been  sick, 
and—" 

The  girl  on  the  bed  raised  herself  hur- 
riedly and  stared  at  the  other  with  wide  eyes. 

"Why,  Rosie,  surely  you  told  him  I'd  be 
back  again  in  a  few  days?" 

"Lie  down,  girl !  There— I  won't  tell  you 
any  more  unless  you  do  as  I  say." 

"All  right,  I'm  down,"  smiled  Blue.  "Go 
on." 

"He  thinks  I'm  lying  about  you,  being  such 
a  liar  himself.  'See  here,  Henderson,'  I  says, 
'you  leave  it  to  me  when  she  comes  back.  The 
girl's  been  sick  all  right.  I'll  have  her  on 
hand  again  day  after  tomorrow,  sure.' 

"  'Well,  she'd  better  be  here,'  he  says,  'or 
she'll  be  losing  her  job.  I  can't  be  holding  it 
for  her  much  longer.'  " 

"Day  after  tomorrow !  Oh,  Rosie,  I  want- 
ed just  that  one  day  for  Daisy !  Couldn't  he 
make  it  one  more  day,  I  wonder?" 


118  IMPULSES 

Rosie's  dark,  florid  face,  with  its  carefully 
manipulated  "street  make-up"  rather  the 
worse  for  wear,  assumed  a  menacing  expres- 
sion. 

"I'll  see  to  that  if  I  have  to—,  well,  no  mat- 
ter !  You  listen  to  me.  You  behave  yourself 
like  you  oughter,  and  we'll  all  chip  in  and  give 
the  kid  such  a  party  like  she  never  had,  be- 
lieve me\" 

"Oh,  Rosie,  you're  an  old  sweet!"  sighed 
Blue. 

"Aw,  cut  it  out!"  said  Rosie.  "Hender- 
son's got  another  girl  down  there,  from  Car- 
doni's,  to  take  your  place,  but  natchally  she 
don't  fit  the  bill.  You  can't  find  a  Blue  Belle 
in  a  hurry,  you  betcher!  But  I  tells  him,  I 
says,  'Why  don't  you  pay  us  girls  a  few  dol- 
lars more  and  keep  us  alive?  You  make 
enough  on  the  drinks,  the  rotten  stuff !'  I  says. 
Lord,  he  was  mad !  'I  manages  my  business 
to  suit  myself,  Miss  Myers,'  he  says." 

"You'd  better  not  talk  that  way  to  him," 
warned  Blue  Belle.  "Don't  you  run  any  risks 
with  your  own  job." 

"I  guess  he  knows  which  side  his  bread's 
buttered  on,"  responded  Miss  Myers  complac- 
ently. "I  could  just  yank  all  those  girls  away 
if  I'd  a  mind  to,  not  that  they'd  be  much  loss ! 
The  most  of  'ems  the  sweet,  sappy  sort,  ain't 


IMPULSES  119 

got  no  pep.  Takes  you  to  put  the  jazz  into 
'em,  Blue." 

Blue  smiled  again  faintly.  Not  much 
"jazz"  left  in  her  tonight,  that  was  sure. 

"Tell  him  to  give  me  two  more  days,  Ro, 
that's  all  I  ask.  He's  not  paying  me  my  fif- 
teen a  week,  so  what  does  he  care!" 

"He  says  the  line  of  custom  you  bring  in  is 
falling  off." 

"Tell  him  I'll  work  harder  than  ever  on 
the  side  when  I  get  back,  I  sure  will."  A  bit- 
ter look  crept  into  her  wonderful  eyes. 
"There's  not  much  use  of  my  holding  myself 
so  high,  Rosie.  Joe's  gone  for  good.  I  sort  of 
set  this  birthday  of  Daisy's  as  the  limit.  She's 
five  years  old  now.  If  he'd  wanted  me,  or 
cared  anything  for  her,  he'd  Ve  come  back  by 
now.  What's  the  use — she's  got  to  have  an 
education  and  everything!  I  give  in." 

Blue's  face  was  turned  to  the  wall,  and 
silence  lasted  for  several  minutes  in  the  little 
room. 

"It'll  be  all  right,  don't  you  fret,"  encour- 
aged the  ever-optimistic  Rosie,  whose  experi- 
ence as  a  one-time  chorus  girl,  now  risen  to 
her  present  status  of  cabaret  dancer,  and 
coach  to  the  new  girls,  made  her  conscious  of 
an  assured  position  in  the  community  where- 
of all  persons  of  the  opposite  sex  were  to  be 


120  IMPULSES 

either  scorned  or  conciliated  as  the  occasion 
demanded. 

"What  do  you  say  to  a  cheese  sandwich 
and  a  bucket  o'  'suds'  for  your  supper?  I'll 
run  down  to  the  corner  for  'em." 

"I  couldn't  eat  a  bite.  Bring  me  a  milk- 
shake, like  an  angel." 

"Milk-shake !"  exclaimed  Rosie  scornfully. 
"How  do  you  expect  to  get  any  strength  in 
you,  girl?" 

"Oh,  well,  fix  it  up  anyway  you  like!  I'll 
take  it."  Once  again  the  girl's  face  was 
turned  to  the  wall,  and  Rosie,  after  a  mo- 
ment's thought,  went  out  and  slammed  the 
door. 

Then  silence  deepened  in  the  room,  and 
darkness  slowly  came,  while  a  little  birthday 
doll  in  gay,  fashionable  clothes,  lay  face 
downward  on  the  floor  near  the  window. 

The  "Merry  Whirl"  cafe,  run  by  "Spike" 
Henderson,  did  a  rousing  business  at  all  times, 
but  especially  on  the  days  when  many  vessels 
were  in  port,  and  the  sailors  came  ashore  on 
leave.  This  was  during  the  period  when  the 
"lid  was  off,"  and  countless  numbers  of  the 
youth  of  both  sexes  strayed  at  will  among  the 
damning  red  lights  of  the  great  city. 

The  "Merry  Whirl"  was  one  of  the  most 


IMPULSES  121 

popular  of  the  eating-places  near  the  water- 
front, and,  on  the  whole,  well  run.  Hender- 
son prided  himself  on  catering  to  the  so-called 
"better  class"  of  cafe  patrons.  On  the  sur- 
face respectability  reigned.  It  was  never  defi- 
nitely known  just  what  standing  his  enter- 
tainers held  in  the  community.  Presumably 
they  went  each  night  after  their  strenuous 
contributions  to  the  evening's  program  to  vir- 
tuous homes.  It  was  none  of  Henderson's  af- 
fair what  happened  to  them  out  of  cabaret 
hours.  He  would  have  thought  them  fools, 
however,  if  they  did  not  take  advantage  of  fol- 
lowing up  opportunities  offered  them  during 
that  time. 

The  munificent  sum  of  fifteen  dollars  a 
week  to  the  ordinary  dancers  was  barely 
enough  to  keep  them  from  starvation,  after 
the  price  of  costumes  and  room  rent  was  de- 
ducted. Even  Blue  Belle,  whose  drawing  val- 
ue was  so  great,  received  no  more  than  that, 
save  on  rare  occasions  when  her  services  were 
demanded  for  extra  "turns."  Rosie  Myers, 
holding  the  proud  position  of  coach  as  well  as 
dancer,  received  the  fabulous  sum  of  eighteen 
dollars  a  week.  With  this  she  paid  a  small 
portion  of  her  expenses.  Rosie  was  extrava- 
gant in  her  tastes,  and  money  ran  through  her 
careless  fingers  to  needy  relatives  or  to  fur- 


122  IMPULSES 

nish  her  own  broad  back  with  seasonable  at- 
tire. 

Several  hours  later  in  the  evening,  after 
having  given  Blue  Belle  the  milk-shake,  and 
tucked  her  comfortably  into  bed,  Rosie  was  re- 
sponding to  uproarious  applause  from  a  mix- 
ture of  sailors,  soldiers,  ordinary  men,  and 
their  girls,  in  great  numbers,  all  seated  at 
small  tables  around  which  swayed  and  circled 
films  of  grey-blue  smoke,  while  ice  clinked, 
and  glasses  were  filled  and  refilled  unstint- 
ingly. 

Rosie  glanced  nonchalantly  out  over  the 
crowd,  knowing  full  well  that  her  own  good- 
nature played  a  large  part  in  her  favorable 
reception,  for  youth  and  grace  were  gradu- 
ally disappearing  with  the  years. 

Entering  at  that  moment  from  the  street 
were  two  unattached  men,  one  a  well-known 
frequenter  of  the  place,  the  other  a  stranger. 

They  stood  for  a  few  minutes  surveying 
the  gay  scene,  while  Rosie  descended  from  the 
platform  and  stopped  to  give  and  take  all  sorts 
of  badinage.  She  had  seen  the  two  men  enter, 
and  "spotted"  a  new  man,  but  she  was  diplo- 
matically blind  at  the  moment  to  their  pres- 
ence. 

"Some  gay  little  place,  eh,  Sandy?"  ex- 
claimed the  taller  of  the  two,  Ralph  Carlton, 


IMPULSES  123 

special  column  writer  on  one  of  the  evening 
papers. 

"You  bet  you !"  agreed  the  smaller,  brown- 
haired  one,  alert  at  once  to  all  the  possibilities 
presented. 

"See  here,  you  must  meet  the  powers  that 
be — Chef  Henderson's  around  somewhere. 
Hello,  Rosie,  how's  every  little  thing?  Allow 
me  to  present  my  friend." 

Rosie's  start  of  pleased  surprise  was  well- 
feigned,  also  her  assumption  of  the  high-class 
society  "dame"  awaiting  a  properly  formal 
introduction. 

"Why,  Mr.  Carlton,  where  did  you  spring 
from?  And — er — ?"  An  enquiring  pause. 

"Miss  Myers,  meet  my  best  friend,  the  re- 
nowned and — " 

"Oh,  cut  out  all  that  dope,  Ralph!"  broke 
in  a  burry,  old-country  voice.  "Don't  listen 
to  him,  Miss  Myers ;  he's  nuts,  you  know.  I'm 
not  renowned  at  all,  and  my  friends  all  call 
me  Sandy." 

"But  I  am  hardly  in  that  class  yet,"  de- 
murely protested  Miss  Myers. 

"I  have  a  bet  with  myself  that  you  soon 
will  be,"  audaciously  declared  Sandy. 

"I  can  see  that  you're  a  cutey,  all  right," 
was  her  quick  response. 

Rosie  was  in  her  element  now,  and  Sandy 


124  IMPULSES 

could  follow  a  lead  as  well  as  the  next  one. 
Wending  their  way  in  and  out  among  the 
mass  of  tables,  they  found  one  to  their  liking, 
leaving  Carlton  to  follow,  amazed,  at  the  erst- 
while blase  Sandy  who  had  shown  no  interest 
whatever  only  an  hour  previous  to  being 
shown  this  "peach"  of  a  resort.  Miss  Myers, 
it  seemed,  had  now  finished  her  part  on  the 
evening's  bill ;  her  duties,  except  those  of  host- 
ess, were  over. 

Carlton's  pretense  of  jealousy  over  the  at- 
tentions paid  her  by  his  friend,  delighted  her, 
and  with  the  addition  of  a  bountiful  supper 
ordered  by  the  two  men,  in  which  a  plentiful 
supply  of  drinks  played  a  part,  Rosie  settled 
down  to  the  full  enjoyment  of  the  evening. 

"I  say,  Rosie,  I  came  here  specially  tonight 
to  introduce  my  friend  to  the  Queen.  Where 
is  she?" 

Rosie's  air  of  injury  was  superb.  Sandy 
took  up  the  cudgels  in  her  defense. 

"I  have  already  met  the  Queen,"  he  lied 
gallantly,  bowing  over  his  glass  toward  the 
lady.  "What  are  you  talking  about,  Ralph?" 

"Oh,  fudge!  Rosie  knows  who  I  mean. 
Where's  Blue  Belle?  I  haven't  seen  her  for 
two  weeks." 

For     a     moment     Rosie's     countenance 


IMPULSES  125 

changed,  but  habit  held  the  joy  lines,  and  she 
laughed. 

"Oh,  she's  all  right!  She  can't  waste  her 
time  down  here  every  night.  She's  a  winner, 
Blue  Belle  is ;  I'm  proud  of  that  girl,  she  does 
credit  to  my  teaching." 

"Are  you  giving  us  the  low-down,  Rosie?" 

"Sure,  what  do  you  think?" 

"Well,  Blue  Belle's  always  been  square 
with  me,  and  I'd  hate  to  think — " 

"Well,  stop  thinkin',  what's  the  use !  Blue 
Belle's  on  the  high  now,  believe  me!  What'll 
you  have,  boys?" 

They  had  "another,"  and  under  its  influ- 
ence Rosie  waxed  even  more  genial,  while  the 
music  wailed  on,  and  a  girl  in  Portola  colors 
"interpreted"  her  own  erroneous  idea  of  a 
snake-charmer. 

"Blue  Belle's  one  of  the  clever  sort,"  con- 
fided Rosie  in  Sandy's  ear. 

"I  don't  like  'em  clever,"  he  growled,  his 
fit  of  ennui  rushing  back  upon  him.  Suddenly 
Rosie,  Carlton,  the  music,  the  drinking,  gorg- 
ing crowd — all  their  tribe — sickened  him,  and 
he  sought  means  of  a  swift  escape. 

"Well,  not  too  clever,"  amended  Rosie. 
"She'll  be  back  to  work  Friday.  Blow  in  then, 
you'll  like  her.  She's  the  lively  little  dancer; 


126  IMPULSES 

am  I  right,  Ralphie?     And  so  sweet  and 
good!" 

"Sure  thing!"  agreed  Carlton,  with  a 
wink  at  Sandy.  Then,  during  a  burst  of  ap- 
plause accorded  the  "interpretation,"  he 
whispered  a  few  words  in  his  friend's  ear  in 
regard  to  the  possible  advances  that  might  be 
made  along  the  road  of  Blue  Belle's  "good- 


ness." 


"Just  the  same,  I  don't  like  the  idea  of  her 
giving  us  the  go-by  down  here,"  he  continued 
aloud.  "I  don't  fancy  these  high-toned  dames 
myself,  neither  does  Sandy." 

"7  should  say  not!  None  of  them  in 
mine,"  muttered  the  latter. 

"You  can  just  tell  Blue  Belle  that  she  can 
go  to  the  place  that  rhymes  with  her  name,  for 
all  of  me !  Tell  her  I  brought  a  swell  gent,  my 
best  friend—" 

"Hear,  hear!"  murmured  Sandy. 

— "down  here  to  meet  her  tonight.  He 
was  all  out  of  sorts  and  wanted  a  good  time, 
and  here's  she's  gone  back  on  us  like  this !" 

"Let's  have  another,"  irrelevantly  inter- 
posed Rosie,  and  until  "another"  was  served 
following  her  imperious  command  to  a  waiter, 
her  attention  could  not  be  claimed  by  either 
of  the  two  men. 

"Here's  hoping!"  she  smiled,  raising  her 


IMPULSES  127 

glass,  and  the  ceremonial  took  place  amid  the 
usual  serious  smacking  of  lips.  "Now  I've 
got  a  swell  plan.  You  two  come  out  to  the 
house  tomorrow  for  lunch,  and  I'll  arrange 
a  meeting  for  you  with  Blue  Belle.  I'll  see  if 
she  can  manage  to  sneak  off  from  one  of  her 
engagements  and  give  us  an  hour  or  two  on 
the  quiet.  She'll  give  you  a  good  time  all 
right,"  pointedly  to  Sandy.  "And  I  guess  I 
can  take  care  of  my  little  friend  here  at  the 
same  time." 

She  smiled  fondly  at  Carlton,  leaning 
lazily  back  in  her  chair.  Rosie  was  complete- 
ly and  supremely  happy  at  the  moment. 

"Well,  I  don't  exactly  know  whether  we 
can,"  temporized  Carlton,  seeing  no  deep  in- 
terest depicted  in  Sandy's  face,  and  hesitat- 
ing to  bring  down  a  characteristic  string  of 
maledictions  upon  his  own  unfortunate  head 
later.  "We're  not  much  on  for  parties,  you 
know,  and — " 

"Parties?  Who  said  it  was  a  party?"  pro- 
tested Rosie.  "Just  an  exclusive  little — 
what's  this  your  Lady  Society  Column  calls 
it — ?  'Foursome,'  that's  it!  Come  on  now, 
don't  be  tights!" 

"You're  too  high-priced  for  us,  Rosie," 
laughed  Carlton.  "We're  poor  working-men." 

"Who's  talking  about  any  price?     You 


128  IMPULSES 

make  me  tired.  Bring  a  few  bottles  of  beer 
with  you,  that's  enough." 

He  glanced  dubiously  at  his  friend,  ex- 
pecting a  rebuff,  but  received  the  result  of  an 
impulse  instead. 

"I  shall  be  delighted,"  declared  Sandy. 

"What  time  did  you  say  those  gents  would 
be  here?"  Blue  Belle  asked  Rosie  the  follow- 
ing morning. 

"I  set  a  real  swell  time  for  lunch,  one- 
thirty,"  she  answered,  hurriedly  running  a 
sweeper  over  the  cheap  carpet,  and  banging  it 
noisily  against  the  sewing-machine,  around 
which  bits  of  cloth,  silk,  and  threads  were 
scattered.  "I  do  wish  Mother  Sullivan  would 
pick  up  her  scraps  when  she  gets  through." 

"She  was  awful  late  last  night  finishing 
the  skirt  of  Maine's  costume,"  said  Blue  Belle. 
"Poor  soul,  she  was  one  tired  old  woman!" 

"Well,  it's  about  time  Mame  had  a  new 
one.  She'd  soon  be  falling  clear  out  of  the 
old  one." 

The  carpet-sweeper  was  emphatically 
placed  out  in  the  hall,  and  Rosie  began  to 
wield  a  cock's  plume  duster  with  whirlwind 
results. 

"Here,  let  me  do  that,"  said  Blue  Belle, 
trying  to  take  the  duster  into  her  own  hands. 


IMPULSES  129 

"Not  on  your  life.  You're  the  swell  dame 
today.  Go  and  put  on  your  blue  velvet,  and 
do  your  hair  all  pretty.  Remember  now, 
you've  just  broken  away  from  your  other  en- 
gagements for  an  hour  or  so,  on  the  q.  t.  for 
the  sake  of  old  friends.  I  don't  know  how  this 
new  guy  will  pan  out.  He  may  not  be  a  live 
one,  but  I  thought  it  worth  trying." 

Blue  Belle's  eyes  filled.  She  looked  away 
and  shivered  nervously,  as  Rosie's  duster 
made  jarring  sounds  on  the  piano  keys,  and 
several  sheets  of  music  fluttered  to  the  floor. 
She  stooped  and  picked  them  up. 

"I  wish  you  hadn't  asked  them  to  come  to- 
day." 

"Why  not?" 

"I  wanted  to  fix  some  little  things  for  kid- 
die's party  tomorrow,  and— 

"Oh,  don't  you  worry!  You'll  have  time 
for  that  all  right.  We'll  all  stick  in.  Mother 
Sullivan  promised  to  give  something,  you 
know,  and  I'll  run  down  to  the  corner  after 
they're  gone  and  order  some  ice  cream  and 
cakes,  and — " 

"Oh,  Rosie,  you  mustn't!" 

"See  here,  who's  doing  this?  You're  aw- 
fully in  my  way.  I  wish  you'd  go  and  dress. 
I've  got  to  coach  Mame  in  her  new  solo  before 


130  IMPULSES 

lunch;  she's  got  to  put  it  over  this  evening." 

"Where  is  Mame?" 

"Cooking  lunch;  where'd  you  suppose?  I 
began  it,  but  I  had  to  break  away  to  do  this." 

"Oh!"  said  Blue  Belle,  and  hurried  out 
into  the  kitchen  where  frowzy-haired,  black- 
eyed  Mame,  during  the  humdrum  process  of 
getting  lunch  for  Blue's  "swell  friends",  was 
enlivening  the  odd  moments  by  rehearsing  her 
"turn"  in  the  narrow  space  between  stove  and 
sink. 

"Go  along  and  try  over  your  song,  Mame ; 
Rosie's  waiting  for  you,"  urged  Blue.  "I'll 
do  this."  She  took  the  egg-beater  from 
Mame's  unresisting  hand,  and  the  latter  van- 
ished into  the  living-room. 

All  was  in  order  when,  about  two  hours 
later,  the  guests  arrived. 

Mame,  in  neat  cap  and  apron,  her  frowzy 
hair  smoothed  hastily,  showed  them  into  the 
living-room.  Blue  Belle  was  a  trifle  late  in 
appearing,  but  Rosie  graciously  arose  from 
the  piano  stool  whither  the  ring  at  the  door- 
bell had  sent  her  a  moment  before,  with  an  air 
of  having  been  pleasantly  interrupted. 

"Hello,  boys!"  she  greeted  them  genially. 
"Come  in;  glad  to  see  you." 

"Don't  let  us  disturb  you,  keep  right  on," 
suggested  Carlton. 


IMPULSES  131 

Sandy  tried  to  nod  pleasantly,  hoping  that 
she  wouldn't. 

"I'm  only  too  glad  to  be  interrupted,"  she 
said  gaily.  "Such  a  relief  to  do  something 
else  once  in  awhile!" 

"Must  be,"  agreed  Sandy,  his  gaze  roving 
alertly  about  the  room  while  he  made  mental 
notes  of  what  he  saw.  The  dust  was  not  now 
apparent,  having  been  moved  by  the  cock's 
plume  duster  from  the  furniture  to  the  many- 
hued  carpet.  The  music  scattered  on  the  pi- 
ano showed  only  an  artistic  confusion  to  be  ex- 
pected in  this  home.  There  were  few  orna- 
ments. Several  empty  bottles,  and  glasses, 
stood  on  a  side-table  quite  naturally  as  a  part 
of  the  household  life.  Books,  magazines, 
where  were  they?  he  wondered.  Some  fash- 
ion papers  lay  about.  For  other  reading  mat- 
ter this  busy  set  of  women  had  no  time.  Their 
only  books  were  the  stories  gossiped  about  in 
the  lives  around  them.  The  world  news  they 
read  in  headlines  held  high  in  the  newsboys' 
hands. 

All  this  and  more  suggested  itself  to  San- 
dy's psychic  sense,  while  Carlton  "joshed" 
with  Rosie  and  wondered  where  Blue  Belle 
kept  herself. 

"She  came  in  about  three  minutes  before 


132  IMPULSES 

you  did,"  fibbed  Rosie.    "Didn't  you  see  her 
limousine  drive  away?" 

"No,  we  didn't!"  laughed  Carlton  loudly, 
while  Sandy  wondered  how  he  did  it. 

"Well,  here's  herself  now,"  said  Rosie, 
with  the  air  of  announcing  a  personage. 

The  blue  velvet  matched  Blue  Belle's  eyes. 
It  was  of  a  fair  quality,  and  Mother  Sullivan 
considered  it  her  "cheff  doovrer"  in  the  way 
of  costume  making.  "Straight  out  of 
'Vogue,' "  Rosie  was  fond  of  telling  her. 

A  bit  of  rouge  and  pink  powder  erased  the 
tired  lines  and  concealed  the  pallor  of  yester- 
day. Blue  Belle's  hair  was  tastefully  dressed. 
Apparently  she  looked  her  own  vivacious, 
pretty  self,  as  Rosie  proudly  introduced 
Sandy. 

"He  don't  seem  to  have  no  name,  Blue."  she 
laughed.  "Mr.  Man,  meet  my  chum,  Miss 
Lamson." 

Sandy  scarcely  heard  the  words,  although 
he  mechanically  murmured  a  greeting.  Sur- 
prise at  the  type  of  girl  confronting  him  held 
him  dumb  a  moment. 

She  accepted  his  apparent  homage  with 
little  interest.  She  was  accustomed  to  it;  it 
was  a  pose  all  men  adopted  under  similar  cir- 
cumstances. 

Today  it  was  an  understood  thing,  that 


IMPULSES  133 

she  was  to  give  this  stranger  a  "good  time," 
in  exchange  for  a  pecuniary  recompense,  but 
why  become  unduly  excited  about  it?  She 
greeted  Ralph  Carlton  in  a  cordial  enough 
spirit.  He  was  Rosie's  "friend"  for  the  after- 
noon, therefore  one  need  not  play  a  part  with 
him. 

"Hello,  Blue,  what's  all  this  about  giving 
Henderson's  the  go-by?"  demanded  Carlton 
jovially.  "You're  queering  the  place.  It  was 
like  a  funeral  down  there  last  night." 

Rosie  whirled  round  on  the  piano  stool.  "A 
thousand  thanks,  Ralphie !  You  can  think  of 
the  choicest  things  to  say." 

"You're  always  an  angel,  Rosie!"  protest- 
ed Carlton.  "Away  out  of  the  funeral  class." 

"While  you  would  like  me  to  play  the  ani- 
mated corpse,  eh?"  asked  Blue  Belle. 

"Don't  pay  any  attention  to  him,  Miss 
Lamson,"  broke  in  Sandy,  whose  habitual 
poise  had  returned.  "He's  a  gay  deceiver." 
Continuing,  he  told  her  of  the  previous  even- 
ing, how  Carlton  had  inveigled  him  into  visit- 
ing the  "Merry  Whirl"  under  false  pretenses. 
To  hear  her  sing,  to  see  her  dance,  these  had 
been  the  only  reasons  for  which  he  had  con- 
sented. 

This  and  much  more  Sandy  told  the  girl, 
while  Mame  went  noiselessly  back  and  forth 


134  IMPULSES 

setting  the  first  course  of  luncheon  on  the 
table. 

Suddenly  the  empty  chatter  was  inter- 
rupted by  a  plainly-dressed,  middle-aged 
woman  making  her  appearance  in  the  door- 
way, and  as  suddenly  backing  out  again. 
Over  her  arm  hung  a  bright-hued  bunch  of 
material. 

"Oh,  I  forgot  you  was  having  company!" 
she  exclaimed. 

Rosie's  face  expressed  annoyance.  "I  told 
Mame  to  tell  you,"  she  muttered,  with  an  im- 
patient look  toward  the  girl,  who  was  placing 
salad  in  front  of  the  guests. 

Mame  gave  a  saucy  shrug,  not  quite  in 
keeping  with  her  supposed  position  in  the 
household,  at  which  Sandy,  under  cover  of  the 
women's  preoccupation,  glanced  quizzically  at 
his  friend.  "It's  all  a  part  of  the  game,"  he 
thought. 

Blue  Belle  was  more  kindly  disposed  con- 
cerning the  incident  than  Rosie. 

"Come  in,  Mother  Sullivan,"  she  called, 
and  the  woman  reappeared.  "Don't  mind  us. 
Do  you  need  to  use  the  machine?" 

"Just  a  bit  of  stitching,"  hesitated  Mother 
Sullivan. 

"All  right,  come  along  in,"  laughed  Rosie 
boisterously.  "I  guess  these  gents  have  seen 


IMPULSES  135 

a  sewing-machine  before.  Mame's  costume 
has  got  to  be  finished  by  tonight,  you  see,  so 
if  you  don't  mind — " 

"Sure!  How  are  you,  Mother?"  ex- 
claimed Carleton. 

The  woman  included  both  men  in  her  nod 
as  she  made  her  way  around  the  table. 

"Mame!"  queried  Sandy  of  Blue  Belle,  his 
eyes  following  the  girl  who  was  entering 
from  the  kitchen  carrying  two  more  plates  of 
salad. 

"Miss  Sullivan,  make  you  acquainted  with 
our  friends."  Blue  Belle  smiled  indifferently. 
"She  likes  to  help  us  out  sometimes,  don't  you, 
Mame?" 

"Sure.  You  don't  suppose  I  wear  these 
things  all  the  time,  do  you?"  she  demanded, 
fixing  Sandy  with  her  bright,  black  eyes,  and 
indicating  her  cap  and  apron, 

"I  really  had  not  given  the  matter  much 
thought,"  admitted  Sandy,  with  mild  sarcasm. 

The  girl's  slight  flush  of  resentment 
amused  him,  and  he  devoted  himself  to  the 
plate  before  him,  his  interest  in  this  household 
growing  each  minute. 

The  sewing-machine  stood  in  the  corner 
where  Sandy  sat,  so  when  he  had  finished  his 
rather  oily  salad  it  was  natural  for  him  to 
turn  around  and  comment  on  the  really  beau- 


136  IMPULSES 

tiful  fabric,  in  color  at  least,  upon  which 
Mother  Sullivan  was  occupied. 

"Tis  fine,"  she  assented.  "Good  color  for 
my  girl,  eh?" 

"Splendid,"  agreed  Sandy.  "Dances,  does 
she?" 

"Oh,  yes,  most  anything!  They  give  her 
the  'spot'  on  this,  and  it's  great." 

A  tiny  garment  of  cheap  mull  and  cotton 
lace  dropped  from  among  the  folds  of  the  gay- 
colored  material.  Sandy  rescued  it  from  the 
floor.  It  looked  like  a  child's  dress.  He  made 
no  comment,  but  Mother  Sullivan,  much  flut- 
tered by  the  interest  of  the  stranger  guest, 
became  loquacious,  while  Carlton  held  the  at- 
tention of  the  three  other  women. 

"Pretty  thing,  ain't  it?  That's  my  little 
surprise  for  Daisy.  Don't  let  Blue  Belle  see 
it,"  confided  she,  spreading  the  little  dress 
lovingly  on  her  knee. 

"And  who  might  Daisy  be?"  asked  Sandy 
idly,  not  caring  at  all  to  know.  Some  four  or 
five-year-old  brat,  he  judged,  by  the  size  of 
the  garment. 

Not  at  all  sure  whether  she  should  be  di- 
vulging these  facts,  Mother  continued  in  an 
undertone,  her  enjoyment  keen  the  while.  It 
was  not  often  such  an  opportunity  came  her 
way. 


IMPULSES  187 

Daisy  was  Blue  Belle's  little  girl,  he  was 
told.  At  this,  Sandy  started  and  regarded  the 
young  mother  across  the  table  with  newly- 
opened  eyes. 

Tomorrow  was  the  child's  birthday.  Oh, 
no,  she  didn't  live  there,  they  were  all  too  busy 
to  take  care  of  a  youngster !  Blue  had  to  keep 
her  in  a  little  private  school  where  they  took 
in  a  few  to  board.  It  was  awful  expensive 
too !  But  tomorrow  she  was  coming  home  for 
the  whole  day.  Why,  they'd  all  been  planning 
it  for  a  week !  No  visitors  were  expected  on 
that  day,  you  betcher!  It  was  going  to  be 
Daisy's  day.  0'  course  it  was  too  bad  her 
mother  had  been  so  sick,  she'd  lost  two  whole 
weeks'  salary,  and  now  she  couldn't  get  Daisy 
lots  of  things  she'd  expected  to,  but — 

"How  about  all  her  other  engagements?" 
asked  Sandy  softly. 

Mother  Sullivan's  face  was  blank.  "What 
other  engagements?"  she  asked. 

"That's  what  I'm  asking  you,"  said  Sandy. 
"I  understood  that  she  was  very  busy  filling 
many  engagements  at  present." 

"Don't  you  believe  it.  Where'd  you  get 
that  stuff?"  exclaimed  Mother.  "She's  been 
flat  on  her  back  for  the  best  part  of  two  weeks, 
and  anyway,  there's  far  too  many  in  this  busi- 


138  IMPULSES 

ness  now.  It  just  keeps  them  hopping  to  land 
new  work." 

"But  about  the  child's  party?"  Sandy 
wanted  to  know. 

"Sure,  we're  all  going  to  chip  in  and  have 
some  doings.  The  dress  is  finished,  and 
Mame's  made  a  cake,  and  Rosie — " 

Sandy  could  stand  no  more.  The  four 
walls  of  the  close  little  room  seemed  closing 
in  upon  him.  Something  clutched  his  throat 
and  almost  stopped  his  breathing. 

"Where's  the  child's  father?"  he  managed 
to  ask. 

Mother  Sullivan  regarded  him  with  un- 
mitigated scorn;  not,  however,  directed 
toward  him  personally.  "He  needn't  show 
his  sneaky  face  around  here,"  she  announced. 
"We'd  step  on  it,  if  he  did.  Daisy  ain't  got  no 
jather!" 

"Oh !"  answered  Sandy,  and  something  in 
his  intonation  partially  placated  her  indigna- 
tion. 

"She  ain't  seen  him  for  four  years  or  so. 
Oh,  yes,  she  was  married  to  him  all  right 
enough,  but  she  don't  need  him  no  more.  Why, 
she's  the  prize  bunch  o'  joy  down  at  the  'Merry 
Whirl.'  She  puts  it  all  over  the  rest  of  'em 
there,  I  tell  you !"  Mother's  plain  face  shone 
with  honest  pride. 


IMPULSES  139 

Sandy  turned  from  the  sewing-machine 
and  looked  across  the  table. 

Dessert,  a  mixture  of  cloying  sweet  stuff, 
was  being  placed  before  them.  Apparently  no 
one  had  noticed  his  prolonged  confab  with 
Mother  Sullivan.  Possibly  he  had  already 
been  labelled  a  "dead  one"  by  his  hostesses. 

The  new  eyes  with  which  he  regarded  Blue 
Belle  revealed  a  change  in  her  expression;  it 
was  duller,  the  vivacious  lines  were  drooping, 
the  girl  was  very  weary.  She  turned  to  speak 
to  Mame,  and  that  young  person  nodded  and 
went  into  the  kitchen,  reappearing  in  a  mo- 
ment carrying  an  iced  cake  slightly  rough  as 
to  edges,  but  rosy  in  hue,  a  cake  for  an  "en- 
tertainer" to  be  justly  proud  of  on  the  whole. 
She  placed  it  with  much  ceremony  in  the  cen- 
ter of  the  table. 

"Here,  what's  this?"  demanded  Rosie,  a 
quick  look  passing  between  her  and  Blue  Belle. 

"Blue  told  me  to  bring  it  in,"  said  Mame, 
defending  herself. 

"Oh,  all  right !"  said  Rosie,  somewhat  puz- 
zled. "What's  the  idea,  Blue?" 

"I  thought  they  might  like  to  see  Daisy's 
birthday  cake,"  she  answered  nonchalantly. 
"She'll  be  five  tomorrow,  you  know,  Ralph." 

He  looked  puzzled.  "I  don't  get  you,  Blue. 
Who's  Daisy?" 


140  IMPULSES 

She  assumed  an  air  of  mock  dignity. 
"Daisy's  me  child.  Do  you  mean  to  say  you've 
forgotten  about  my  daughter?" 

Ralph  stammered  something  about,  well, 
long  ago,  perhaps,  he  had  heard  something  of 
the  sort,  but  he  was  never  quite  sure,  and — 

Blue  Belle  laughed  mirthlessly.  "Just  as 
well  you  weren't.  I  don't  have  much  time  for 
the  kiddie  now,  but  some  day,  perhaps — !" 
Her  eyes  grew  misty,  and  she  turned  aside  to 
smooth  an  invisible  wrinkle  in  the  tablecloth. 

"Well,  sometimes  you  spend  too  much  time 
on  her,"  broke  in  Rosie,  having  been  too  long 
silent.  "Here's  what  she's  been  wearing  her- 
self out  over  when  she'd  oughter  been  rest- 
ing." Forthwith  Rosie  produced  the  small 
doll  which  had  lain  all  night  face  downward 
on  the  bedroom  floor.  She  now  placed  it  right- 
side-up  on  the  table  beside  the  cake,  and 
strewed  its  many  little  garments  around  it, 
laughing  noisily  in  her  good-natured  way. 

Sandy  had  nothing  to  say.  He  was  plan- 
ning as  hasty  an  exit  as  was  compatible  with 
decency  and  common-sense.  Only  to  be  able 
to  swear  in  the  open  was  all  he  asked  just  then 
of  life. 

Carlton  took  the  matter  more  calmly,  not 
being  a  student  of  humanity,  but  merely  one 
who  took  good-naturedly  and  somewhat 


IMPULSES  141 

greedily  whatever  pleasure  came  his  way,  and 
asked  no  questions. 

"Got  any  candles  for  the  cake?"  he  de- 
manded. 

"Oh,  curses,  I  forgot  'em!"  exclaimed 
Mame.  "Say,  I  got  a  nickel ;  gimme  another," 
to  Ralph,  "and  I'll  get  some." 

He  tossed  her  the  desired  coin.  "Here — 
any  other  little  thing,"  he  suggested,  looking 
enquiringly  at  Blue  Belle,  whose  eyes  were 
shining  again  at  so  little  a  thing  as  a  five-cent 
piece  for  her  baby's  pleasure,  and  once  more 
Sandy's  heart  annoyed  him  with  its  rising 
throb. 

He  suddenly  drew  out  his  watch.  It  was 
not  a  reliable  time-piece,  but  such  as  it  was  it 
often  helped  him  out  of  predicaments. 

"Look  here,  Ralph,  I'm  due  down  town  in 
twenty  minutes,"  he  announced  brusquely. 
"Suit  yourself  about  coming  with  me.  I  hope 
the  ladies  will  excuse  my  running  away.  Busi- 
ness, you  see,"  he  explaimed  rather  lamely. 

Ralph  Carlton  looked  his  surprise,  but 
knew  Sandy  too  well  to  protest  in  public. 

"Why,  I  thought  this  was  to  be  an  all-aft- 
ernoon affair !"  insinuated  Rosie,  entirely  for- 
getting the  limited  time  which  the  popular 
"Miss  Lamson"  was  supposed  to  be  stealing 
from  her  numerous  engagements. 


142  IMPULSES 

"Sorry!"  said  Carlton,  concluding  to  hu- 
mor Sandy  in  his  impulse,  whatever  it  might 
be.  "I'll  go  along  with  you/'  he  told  him. 
"  'To  be  continued  in  our  next/  "  he  quoted 
airily  to  Rosie.  He  turned  just  in  time  to 
catch  a  look  of  relief  flit  across  Blue  Belle's 
tired  face  which  Sandy  had  already  noted. 

Outside,  the  fresh  afternoon  breeze 
brought  back  sufficient  breathing  material  for 
Sandy,  but  he  boarded  a  street-car  with  his 
friend  in  silence. 

The  car  was  crowded,  the  two  men  were 
separated  by  a  medley  of  human  beings. 

"Where  do  we  get  off?"  signalled  Carlton, 
when  the  Market  street  shops  began  to  slide 
past  them. 

"Emporium,"  was  Sandy's  laconic  an- 
swer. 

More  mysteries!  Then  intelligence 
dawned  in  Carlton's  brain.  "Why  not?"  he 
thought.  "I'll  buy  a  few  gimcracks  too  for  the 
kid." 

Very  little  was  said  when  they  entered 
the  great  Emporium,  with  its  daily  stream  of 
shoppers  pouring  in  and  out  of  the  wide  doors. 
Sandy  marched  straight  to  the  huge  toy  de- 
partment by  way  of  one  of  the  many  elevators. 

What  matter  what  he  bought,  or  whether 
he  and  Carlton,  during  this  novel  occupation, 


IMPULSES  143 

argued  hotly  over  the  relative  values  and  al- 
lurements of  a  tiny  go-cart  and  a  tin  kitchen 
outfit,  or  a  sewing  basket  and  a  train  of  cars? 

Sufficient  to  say  that  on  the  next  day  an 
innocent  little  child  was  made  happier  by  sev- 
eral wonderful,  enchanting  gifts,  and  the 
birthday  "party"  enriched  by  unexpected 
"goodies"  from  the  delicatessen  counter. 

All  during  his  waking  hours  that  night, 
and  the  following  day,  Sandy  was  conscious  of 
the  festivities  going  on  in  that  strangely  min- 
gled home. 

Late  that  afternoon  he  walked  out  Post 
street,  it  was  a  favorite  stroll  of  his  toward 
evening.  A  little  earlier  he  had  chanced  to 
meet  the  Blue-Eyed  Lady  among  the  shops, 
and  after  even  the  shortest  chat  with  her  he 
always  felt  exhilarated  by  something  to  which 
he  had  not  yet  dared  to  give  a  name. 

On  Post  street  there  were  several  shop- 
windows  of  which  he  was  fond.  He  liked  to 
see  if  certain  pictures  or  books  were  there. 
Stopping  in  front  of  one  of  these,  rather  noted 
for  its  fine  copies  of  celebrated  paintings,  his 
gaze  was  attracted  by  a  picture  which  had 
been  placed  in  the  center  of  a  group.  It  was 
not  a  new  one.  It  is  well-known  in  many 
homes.  Life-size  copies  are  to  be  seen  in  every 
large  gallery.  The  central  figure  is  a  beau- 


144  IMPULSES 

tiful,  holy  Child,  the  surrounding  ones  are 
beasts  of  every  kind,  both  wild  and  tame,  all 
held  under  the  domination  of  that  wonderful, 
Child-like  innocence. 

"A  little  Child  shall  lead  them,"  thought 
Sandy,  knowing  the  biblical  title  of  the  pic- 
ure,  and  his  thoughts,  relentlessly  going  on, 
showed  him  his  own  and  Carlton's  selfish 
plans  for  their  'good  time/'  frustrated,  and 
turned  into  higher  channels  by  the  influence 
of  a  "little  child." 

He  thought  of  the  frail  young  mother 
nightly  evoking  laughter  at  the  "Merry 
Whirl,"  for  fifteen  dollars  a  week,  in  order 
that  he,  and  others  like  him,  might  have  their 
pleasure — while  a  "little  child"  went  without 
its  God-sent  heritage. 

Turning  abruptly  from  the  window,  he 
was  confronted  by  Ralph  Carlton.  He  also 
was  fond  of  strolling  out  Post  street;  he  also 
saw  the  central  picture  in  the  shop-window. 
The  eyes  of  the  two  men  met.  Sandy's  com- 
ment was  not  expressed  in  biblical  terms,  but 
it  was  final : 

"Carlton— ain't  it  hell?" 


"A  LAME  DOG" 

Giorgio  was  about  twenty  years  old  when 
Sandy  first  met  him.  Their  acquaintance  be- 
gan unexpectedly,  as  often  happens,  and 
through  the  friendship  which  followed,  San- 
dy's impulse  theory  was  perhaps  put  to  se- 
verer tests  than  at  any  period  of  his  varied 
career. 

When  an  auto-truck  narrowly  escaped 
crushing  out  Giorgio's  life  one  day  in  Front 
street,  Sandy  chanced  to  be  passing,  and  it 
was  into  his  face  that  the  dreamy  brown,  Ital- 
ian eyes,  frightened  and  beseeching,  gazed, 
when  several  kindly  hands  assisted  the  boy  to 
the  sidewalk. 

Now  Giorgio  had  no  morals  of  which  he 
was  conscious,  and  he  possessed  an  ardent 
love  for  strong  drink;  two  characteristics  of 
which  Sandy  knew  nothing  at  the  time  of  res- 
cue, although  he  suspected  the  latter  of  being 
the  chief  cause  of  the  accident.  It  would  have 
made  no  difference  to  Sandy,  however,  if  he 
had  known  these  things. 


146  IMPULSES 

The  auto-truck  driver  swore  in  the  pres- 
ence of  witnesses  the  next  morning  that  the 
"Dago"  had  tumbled  off  the  sidewalk  in  the 
narrow  street,  right  under  his  truck  wheels, 
where  congested  traffic  made  it  impossible  for 
him  to  avoid  injuring  him.  The  Court  be- 
lieved the  truck  driver,  which  simplified  the 
matter  for  him,  but  made  it  harder  for  Gior- 
gio. The  latter's  habit  of  spending  his  pre- 
carious earnings  up  to  the  minute  left  him 
helplessly  alone  in  an  alien  land  after  the  ac- 
cident. 

As  he  lay  writhing  in  pain  on  the  sidewalk, 
it  was  Sandy's  arms  which  raised  him.  When 
the  ambulance  came  it  was  Sandy  who  as- 
sisted the  officials,  and  became  responsible  for 
the  boy's  receiving  special  attention  at  the 
hospital. 

The  consequences  of  helping  this  "lame 
dog  over  a  stile,"  came  in  due  time. 

Giorgio  lay  for  some  weeks  in  the  hospital, 
visited  occasionally  by  his  protector.  Each 
day  the  boy  adored  him  with  more  intensity, 
and  caused  Sandy  much  discomfort  by  lavish- 
ing upon  him  in  unstinted  measure  the 
warmth  and  gratitude  of  his  Latin  nature.  It 
would  be  different  when  he  was  dismissed 
from  the  hospital,  Sandy  promised  himself. 
Good  Lord,  he  didn't  want  this  Dago  kid  hang- 


IMPULSES  147 

ing  round  his  neck  for  the  balance  of  his  life! 
Where  were  all  his  people  anyway?  Giorgio 
had  a  happy  disregard  for  his  relatives.  This 
appealed  to  Sandy,  who  had  long  ago  placed 
all  his  own  at  a  discount.  There  were  times, 
however,  when  they  might  be  useful,  as  in  the 
present  instance.  Someone  with  the  legal 
right  to  assist  in  the  payment  of  Giorgio's 
medicine  bills  would  be  welcome. 

Sandy  questioned  him,  but  it  appeared  a 
matter  of  small  moment  to  the  boy,  who  daily 
became  stronger,  and  whose  dreamy  eyes 
again  glinted  with  the  expectancy  of  life  in 
their  depths. 

After  Sandy  secured  him  a  job  with  a 
packing  company  he  considered  his  responsi- 
bility ended,  and  with  a  sigh  of  relief,  the  ne- 
cessity for  changing  his  own  place  of  abode 
occurring  at  the  moment,  moved  to  a  new 
apartment,  and  thought  no  more  of  the  Ital- 
ian. 

It  was  nearly  a  year  later  that  Sandy's 
habit  of  seeking  new  restaurants,  and  using 
them  for  a  short  time,  became  the  means  of 
giving  Giorgio  a  clue  to  his  kind  friend's 
whereabouts.  Returning  one  evening  in  the 
dusk,  after  an  Italian  dinner  in  a  new  loca- 
tion, Sandy  became  conscious  of  someone  fol- 


148  IMPULSES 

lowing  him,  and  as  he  reached  his  own  door, 
Giorgio  flung  himself  impetuously  in  his  way. 

"At  last  I  have  founda  you,  my  frienM" 
he  cried.  "You  have  lefta  me  so  long  time. 
Now  you  coma  to  my  place  to  eat.  I  have 
founda  you,  I  have  founda  you !" 

There  was  no  denying  that  he  was  found. 
Trapped  at  his  own  door,  Sandy  capitulated. 

"What's  up  now?"  he  demanded  as  though 
he  had  seen  the  boy  only  yesterday. 

"I  lika  just  to  see  you  every  day,"  ex- 
plained Giorgio. 

"Well,  I  don't  mind  your  looking  at  me 
every  day,  if  you  don't  bother  me." 

"Oh,  no,  I  nota  bother  you !" 

"Then  it's  a  bargain?"  asked  Sandy,  with 
a  searching  look. 

"Mr.  Sandy,  I  hava  no  more  money,"  con- 
fessed Giorgio,  hanging  his  head,  his  eyes 
slanting  upward  to  watch  the  effect  of  this 
information. 

"That's  no  news.  You  needn't  have  taken 
all  this  trouble  to  tell  me  that." 

"It  was  verra  harda  work  in  that  job  you 
so  kinda  give  me.  I  almost  gotta  seeck 
again." 

In  truth  there  was  a  frail  look  about  the 
boy.  Also  there  were  no  signs  of  strong  drink 
apparent 


IMPULSES  149 

"I  lika  you  give  me  another  job,"  casually 
continued  Giorgio. 

"I  haven't  one  in  my  pocket  at  this  mo- 
ment." 

The  jest  fell  flat  on  Giorgio's  understand- 
ing; his  thoughts  were  rapidly  pursuing  his 
own  affairs. 

"I  lika  maka  much  more  money." 

"So  would  I,"  agreed  Sandy  sympathetic- 
ally. "What  do  you  intend  to  do  with  all  your 
money?"  Heavens! — he  might  as  well  invite 
the  boy  in  and  form  a  partnership!  There 
seemed  no  escape  from  this  implicit  confidence 
in  his  ability  to  furnish  unlimited  jobs  and 
good-will. 

"I  don't  like  standing  around  on  doorsteps. 
Come  in  and  talk  awhile  inside,"  invited 
Sandy. 

This  was  an  unexpected  honor,  and  Gior- 
gio twirled  his  hat  in  nervous  anticipation 
while  his  host  led  him  up  two  long  flights  of 
stairs,  and  into  a  comfortable  room  which  was 
Sandy's  present  "Hades,"  the  name  he  always 
attached  to  the  place  which  sheltered  him  and 
his  belongings  for  the  moment. 

He  turned  on  the  lights,  and  relentlessly 
continued  the  subject  of  Giorgio's  financial  in- 
tentions. 

The   latter,   seated   on   the   edge   of   a 


150  IMPULSES 

straight-backed  chair  (Sandy  had  carefully 
steered  him  past  his  couch)  launched  forth 
with  great  relish  into  many  matters  of  per- 
sonal history  occurring  during  the  year. 

He  needed  "mucha  money,"  it  seemed,  be- 
cause of  "Carlotta."  Sandy  was  naturally 
curious  about  Carlotta,  her  whereabouts,  and 
occupation. 

"Carlotta",  it  was  divulged  with  much 
bashful  self-consciousness,  was  "verra 
pretty." 

"Of  course,  I  know  that!"  exclaimed 
Sandy.  "Carlotta  is  always  pretty!" 

"Yes,  Mr.  Sandy,"  agreed  Giorgio. 

There  were  no  stern  parents  in  the  way, 
only  an  elderly  uncle,  a  fruit-monger  in  Paci- 
fic street;  and  Carlotta  had  also  two  big 
brothers. 

The  latter  were  not  here  now,  but  some- 
where in  a  convenient  country  at  a  distance, 
where  they  did  not  seem  likely  to  disturb  the 
forthcoming  plans  of  two  optimistic  young 
persons. 

"Carlotta,  she  worka  in  the  cannery  some- 
times, but  I  lika  best  when  she  worka  in  the 
fruit-store  with  her  uncle,"  Giorgio  confided. 

Sandy  could  well  understand  this,  and 
mentally  conjured  up  the  many  additions 


IMPULSES  151 

which  this  fruit-store  might  yield  to  the  fru- 
gal meals  of  the  young  Italian. 

Carlotta,  in  addition  to  being  "verra 
pretty,"  was  also  strong.  "Oh,  yes,  she  could 
carry  wood,  mucha  wood!"  declared  her  lover, 
"and  heavy  pails  of  water."  In  every  way  she 
appeared  suitable  to  be  a  model  wife. 

A  very  real  interest  was  aroused  in  Sandy 
as  he  listened  to  this  recital,  and  his  resolution 
to  bother  himself  no  more  with  the  boy  lay 
broken  into  bits  about  him. 

"I'll  see  what  I  can  do  for  you,"  he  assured 
him.  "Come  around  tomorrow  evening,  I  may 
have  something.  Meantime,  you  and  Carlotta 
go  slow.  You're  young  yet,  you  know — 
there's  plenty  of  time  to  think  of  marrying 
two  or  three  years  from  now." 

"Oh,  yes!"  agreed  Giorgio.  "Plenty  time. 
We  don't  getta  married  yet,  Carlotta  and  me." 

The  significance  of  this  simple  statement 
did  not  strike  his  hearer  at  the  time,  and  as 
Giorgio  took  his  departure  Sandy  heaved  a 
sigh  of  relief  that  the  remainder  of  the  even- 
ing was  his  own,  with  which  to  do  as  he  liked. 
A  chapter  in  his  weekly  letter  to  the  Blue- 
Eyed  Lady  would  come  first;  then  a  loitering 
through  the  ever-fascinating  city  streets,  un- 
til fatigue  should  drive  him  back  to  "the  hay" 
and  the  kindly  oblivion  of  sleep. 


152  IMPULSES 

Not  one  job,  but  two  or  three,  did  Sandy 
tender  Giorgio,  each  tried  out  for  a  few  days, 
then  slipped  out  of  by  that  convincing  youth. 

One  was  too  hard,  "Oh,  verra  hard,  Mr. 
Sandy!"  It  was  Carlotta  who  told  him  this, 
as  in  the  natural  course  of  events  it  was  con- 
sidered necessary  that  he  should  meet  the  ob- 
ject of  Giorgio's  adoration. 

An  impish,  black-eyed  creature,  she 
sparkled  and  flashed  bits  of  fun  and  coquetry 
at  anyone  who  came  her  way.  "A  valuable 
asset  in  the  business  of  the  fruit-monger," 
thought  Sandy,  as  he  observed  her  among  the 
customers. 

Another  job  which  Giorgio  held  for  a  week 
was  taken  away  from  him  by  his  employer. 
He  caused  jealousy  among  the  other  boys  by 
his  "damned  winning  ways,"  the  man  stated. 

"My  Giorgio,  he  is  the  one  grand  boy!" 
declared  Carlotta,  in  confirmation  of  this. 

In  the  fourth  position  he  seemed  likely  to 
please,  and  to  remain  for  a  while  at  least,  so 
Sandy  permitted  himself  a  brief  breathing 
spell  of  relief.  Then,  ensued  the  sequence  of 
events,  compared  to  which  the  preceding 
faded  into  insignificance. 

A  more  than  usually  excited  Giorgio  was 
discovered  on  Sandy's  doorstep  one  evening 
when  he  returned  from  work,  and  begged 


IMPULSES  153 

leave  to  come  in  and  tell  his  "kinda  frien'  " 
something  important.  As  each  new  step  Gior- 
gio took  was  important  Sandy  did  not  realize 
at  the  moment  that  the  beginning  of  a  new 
series  of  trouble  for  himself  was  upon  him. 

Upstairs,  seated  as  usual  on  the  edge  of 
the  straight-backed  chair,  Giorgio  went  at 
once  to  the  vital  point. 

"I  lika  you  tella  me  where  I  buy  marriage 
'certificate.' " 

"What's  that?"  cried  Sandy,  his  pipe  sud- 
denly puffing  smoke  into  his  eyes. 

"Marriage  'certificate,'  you  know?  You 
put  in  frama,  hang  'em  on  wall,"  carefully  ex- 
plained Giorgio. 

"Oh,"  answered  Sandy;  "I  see!  So  the 
happy  day  approaches,  eh?  When  are  you 
going  to  get  married?" 

"I  notta  going  to  getta  married,"  an- 
nounced Giorgio  simply.  "I  have  notta  yet 
mucha  money,  Mr.  Sandy.  I  canno  taka  care 
Carlotta,  and  maybe  she  canno  work  all  the 
time." 

An  idea  of  the  boy's  meaning  began  to 
dawn  in  Sandy's  mind.  He  felt  what  was 
coming. 

"Then  why  the  marriage  certificate?" 

"You  know  where  I  cana  buy  one?" 

"Oh,  yes,  there  are  plenty  of  places !" 


154  IMPULSES 

"I  lika  to  go  where  you  buya  yours/'  de- 
clared Giorgio. 

"I  have  no  regular  place,"  responded 
Sandy  with  great  seriousness;  "I  buy  them 
wherever  I  happen  to  be." 

"Is  that  so?"  answered  Giorgio  politely. 

"How  much  money  have  you?  It  takes  a 
large  sum,  you  know,  to  buy  a  marriage  cer- 
tificate." 

"Nota  much,"  evaded  the  boy.  "I  think 
maybe  you  lenda  me — "  One  of  the  winning 
ways  of  which  the  former  employer  had 
spoken  was  brought  into  play,  but  Sandy 
hardened  his  heart. 

"Just  why  do  you  want  this  now?"  he 
asked,  relentlessly  pressing  the  point. 

Giorgio's  eyes  grew  beseeching.  "Car- 
lotta,  she  lova  to  hava  the  marriage  'certifi- 
cate/ she  lika  to  hang  it  on  the  wall,  show 
her  friends,  oh,  she  hava  many  friends,  Car- 
lotta!" 

"All  very  nice,"  Sandy  admitted;  "but 
why  can't  Carlotta  wait  a  year  or  so  for  that 
artistic  triumph?" 

Giorgio  did  not  follow  this  sarcasm  in  the 
slightest  degree. 

"The  baby  it  comes  in  June,"  he  an- 
nounced. 

Here  was  reason  indeed.  His  listener  pon- 


IMPULSES  155 

dered  in  silence,  while  the  prospective  head  of 
a  family  continued. 

"We  lova  verra  much,  Carlotta  and  me. 
By  and  by  when  I  am  richa  man  we  going  to 
hava  fine  house,  and  veectrola,  and  maybe 
limousina  for  Carlotta.-'  His  face  shone. 
"But  now  she  worka  two,  three  more  months 
for  her  uncle,  and  he  giva  her  home.  I  canno 
buy  home  for  Carlotta  now,  I  hava  not  enough 
money.  I  cana  buy  marriage  'certificate/  she 
hang  it  on  the  wall,  it  maka  her  verra  happy, 
my  frien'." 

Thus  pleaded  Giorgio  until  Sandy's  stern 
mind  allowed  his  tender  heart  to  agree  to  go 
himself  on  the  morrow,  and  purchase  a  mar- 
riage "certificate"  for  the  illegal  pair. 

Logic  showed  him  no  good  reason  for  bind- 
ing these  two  together  at  the  present  time.  It 
might  mean  much  future  unhappiness  for  the 
young  wife,  whose  uncle  would  more  readily 
care  for  her  and  her  child  were  there  no  im- 
pecunious husband  in  the  foreground.  Also 
the  element  of  self-protection  entered  into 
Sandy's  reasoning.  He  had  no  desire  to  as- 
sume all  the  financial  responsibility  of  rearing 
a  thriving  young  Italian  family. 

There  is  a  shop  in  Market  street  where 
one  may  secure  a  highly  ornamental  "certifi- 
cate" for  a  small  sum,  and  it  may  be  framed 


156  IMPULSES 

or  not  as  the  purchaser  desires.  To  be  sure, 
the  purchase  is  usually  backed  by  the  posses- 
vjion  of  a  marriage  license,  safe  in  one's 
pocket,  or  else  the  certificate  is  presented  to 
the  happy  couple  by  the  officiating  minister. 
The  clerk  in  a  stationery  shop  does  not  en- 
quire into  these  matters,  however;  he  merely 
shows  the  goods  when  asked  for,  and  dis- 
creetly assists  the  buyer  in  the  selection  of  an 
appropriate  frame. 

When  Sandy  ventured  in  to  attend  to  his 
unusual  bit  of  shopping  nothing  appeared 
easier  or  more  commonplace. 

It  was  when  he  turned  about,  after  the 
selection  of  a  white  and  gold  frame,  that  he 
encountered  the  grinning  face  of  his  friend 
and  fellow-clubman,  Dan.  He  realized  then 
that  it  was  this  presence  which  he  had  felt 
near  him  all  during  the  purchase  of  the  hor- 
rid object. 

"Well,  of  all  the  sly  dogs!"  shouted  Dan, 
who  habitually  spoke  as  though  his  hearers 
were  at  least  fifty  feet  away.  "You're  a  nice 
one,  you  are,  trying  to  give  us  the  slip  like 
this!  Here,  tell  me  all  about  it.  Who  is  she? 
When's  it  to  be?  Hang  it  all,  you're  pretty 
damned  mean  to  treat  your  best  friend  this 
way!" 

Sandy  had  so  many  "best  friends,"  that 


IMPULSES  157 

he  had  a  hard  time  keeping  count  of  them,  and 
keeping  them  friends  with  each  other  when 
counted.  Dan  stood  very  near  the  top  of  the 
list,  but  just  now  he  was  in  grave  danger  of 
tumbling  to  the  bottom. 

"I  wish  you'd  go  to  hell  and  stay  there!" 
exclaimed  Sandy,  slamming  down  the  price 
of  the  white  and  gold  object  on  the  counter. 
"Not  you,"  he  explained  to  the  astonished 
clerk,  "but  this  'butt-insky,'  here.  I  don't 
recognize  your  right  to  question  my  pur- 
chases in  this  store.  When  I  get  ready  to  tell 
you  anything,  why,  I'll  tell  you,  that's  all!" 
Whirling  about  he  marched  out  of  the  shop 
with  haughty  mien,  leaving  Dan  full  of  wrath 
and  a  desire  for  revenge. 

Sandy  would  have  passed  a  pleasanter 
evening  had  he  assumed  a  more  tolerant  atti- 
tude. He  admitted  this  to  himself  later. 

Leaving  the  marriage  certificate  in  his 
room  he  sauntered  to  the  Club,  thinking  to 
dine  there  that  evening  for  a  change.  Fatal 
resolve ! 

Dan  had  preceded  him  by  two  hours,  and 
when  Sandy  entered  the  spacious  "lounge"  ad- 
jacent to  the  Club  bar,  a  buzz  of  comment  ran 
round  the  room.  Its  significance  did  not  strike 
him  as  he  walked  serenely  through,  intent 


158  IMPULSES 

upon  ordering  his  favorite  appetizer  before 
the  evening  meal. 

The  storm  broke  a  few  minutes  later,  not 
abruptly,  but  with  autumn  gentleness,  only  to 
increase,  as  time  went  on,  to  all  the  fury  of  a 
mid-winter  gale.  It  began  with  the  approach 
of  several  "best  friends,"  headed  by  Dan,  who 
insisted  upon  "having  one"  with  him.  Sandy 
does  not  quite  remember  how,  or  when,  it 
ended. 

What  was  not  attended  to  in  the  way  of 
pre-nuptial  celebrations  was  not  Dan's  fault, 
nor  that  of  his  chief  coadjutor,  Carlton.  It 
was  only  when  invention  and  the  hours  of  the 
night  gave  out,  that  the  thirst  for  revenge 
was  satisfied.  The  supposed  groom-elect  was 
put  through  a  series  of  ceremonies  compared 
to  which  the  initiation  into  a  college  frater- 
nity is  a  paltry  affair.  They  began  with  the 
"appetizer,"  followed  by  a  series  of  toasts, 
more  or  less  felicitous,  concerning  the  ap- 
proaching change  in  Sandy's  life,  the  know- 
ledge of  which  he  had  so  basely  concealed  from 
his  friends. 

These  were  merely  annoying,  but  the  se- 
quence of  inquisitorial  acts  which  ensued  laid 
low  the  unfortunate  victim.  Brief  intervals 
were  accorded  him  in  which  to  divulge  the 
name  of  the  lady,  and  the  day  and  hour  of  the 


IMPULSES  159 

happy  event,  but  these  only  served  to  render 
him  dumb,  and  to  give  him  renewed  strength 
and  obstinacy  for  the  next  onslaught.  From 
hair-raising  experiences  in  the  elevator  shaft 
he  passed  to  the  consumption  of  obnoxious 
mixtures  of  food,  and  thence  to  blanket-toss- 
ing, in  bewildering  succession.  But  daylight 
found  his  persecutors  even  more  weary  and 
sore-limbed  than  he.  In  Club  annals  Sandy 
still  holds  the  record  for  endurance  among 
numerous  competitors  in  pre-nuptial  celebra- 
tions for  bridegrooms-elect.  There  are  those 
who  still  discuss  this  marvelous  night,  but  un- 
til time  had  somewhat  dimmed  its  glory  in  the 
minds  of  the  participants,  its  hero  was  seen 
no  more  at  the  Club. 

Giorgio  had  never  before  been  favored 
with  the  grim  look  which  was  on  his  benefac- 
tor's face  when  the  latter  presented  him  with 
the  much-desired  "certificate"  the  following 
evening.  He  feared  for  Mr.  Sandy's  health, 
and  made  solicitous  enquiries,  only  to  be  told 
to  "go  to  hell  with  his  damned  certificate!" 
This  grieved  Giorgio  extremely,  and  the  mem- 
ory of  his  stricken  face,  the  soft  brown  eyes 
full  of  tears,  returned  and  kept  Sandy  awake 
during  the  early  morning  hours. 

For  some  time  after  this  he  saw  no  more 
of  Giorgio.  Casual  enquiries  disclosed  the 


160  IMPULSES 

fact  that  the  boy  was  giving  satisfaction  in 
his  latest  position. 

"There's  nothing  wonderful  about  his  bus- 
iness ability,"  his  employer  stated;  "but  he'll 
do.  You  can't  help  liking  the  kid." 

Sandy  also  had  one  or  two  confidential 
chats  with  Carlotta's  fruit-monger  uncle.  Ap- 
parently the  "certificato"  had  done  its  work, 
and  both  the  "many  friends  of  Carlotta,"  and 
the  uncle  were  satisfied  to  accept  its  white  and 
gold-framed  affirmation  of  something  into 
which  it  were  wise  not  to  enquire  too  deeply. 

So  in  due  time  there  came  a  tiny,  dark- 
eyed  daughter  to  Giorgio  and  Carlotta,  and 
they  were  "verra  happy." 

Baby  Maria  was  six  months  old  when  her 
father  rushed  frantically  to  Sandy's  apart- 
ment one  evening.  "What  to  do?  What  to 
do?" 

Carlotta's  two  big  brothers  from  that  con- 
veniently far-distant  country,  had  suddenly 
decided  to  abandon  all  former  occupations, 
and  come  and  establish  themselves  in  the  city. 
They  had  written  that  Carlotta  was  to  keep 
house  for  them,  and  to  throw  the  sum  of  her 
earnings  in  with  theirs.  Being  her  nearest 
male  relatives  they  naturally  assumed  com- 
mand of  both  her  earnings  and  her  services. 
Giorgio  was  incoherent  in  his  distress. 


IMPULSES  161 

Aside  from  having  these  rights  over  the 
person  of  Carlotta,  the  brothers  were  "Catho- 
leeca,"  very  "streecta"  ones,  at  that.  The 
girPs  elastic  conscience  had  allowed  her  to 
stray  far  away  from  the  ministrations  and 
powers  of  the  church ;  not  so  the  big  brothers. 
Now  they  were  about  to  descend  upon  them. 
"Dio  Mio!"  Giorgio's  youthful  person,  his 
slender  income,  and  above  all,  the  white  and 
gold-framed  "certificato,"  would  be  consid- 
ered but  slight  foundations  for  his  permanent 
presence  in  the  household,  to  say  nothing  of 
Baby  Maria's. 

The  stability  of  matrimony  in  due  form 
had  at  last  presented  itself  to  the  young  Ital- 
ian's mind  as  a  necessary  and  desirable  thing. 
Carlotta,  married,  would  naturally  be  in  the 
sacred  custody  of  her  husband.  The  big 
brothers  were  expected  to  arrive  within  a 
week  at  the  latest.  Sandy  was  urged  to  pro- 
vide, before  the  hour  of  their  arrival,  all  the 
details  of  license,  priest,  ring,  decorations, 
place  of  ceremony,  and  other  customary 
features.  The  groom  did  not  wish  knowingly 
to  eliminate  any  of  these. 

"And  what  about  bridesmaids?"  enquired 
the  ironic  Sandy,  when  a  moment  was  vouch- 
safed him  for  speech;  "and  a  ring-bearer? 
Too  bad  Maria  is  not  yet  walking!  It  would 


162  IMPULSES 

hardly  do  for  her  to  creep  in  with  the  ring, 
would  it!"  This  was  a  statement,  however,  not 
a  question.  Fortunately  Giorgio  took  it  as 
such ;  one  of  the  many  in  which  he  could  not 
follow  his  "kinda  frien'." 

The  thought  of  the  little  Maria  creeping 
anywhere  troubled  the  boy  not  a  little.  What 
place  would  she  hold  in  the  minds  of  the  big 
brothers?  Would  they  look  at  her,  and  then 
at  the  too-recently  dated  "certificato"  with 
questions  in  their  ruthless  eyes?  "Dio  Mio!" 
He  snatched  up  the  tiny  "joy  of  his  heart" 
greedily.  Nothing  should  harm  her ! 

Sandy's  mind,  instead  of  his  heart,  took 
charge  of  the  simple  wedding  ceremony.  He 
cruelly  over-rode  all  desires  for  elaborate  de- 
tails. Attendants,  decorations,  and  festivi- 
ties of  any  kind  in  which  outsiders  would  be 
involved,  were  voted  down  by  this  adamant 
committee-of -affairs. 

Three  days  before  the  unsuspecting  big 
brothers  arrived,  the  names  and  fortunes  of 
Giorgio  and  Carlotta,  and  those  of  little 
Maria,  were  made  one,  according  to  the  civil 
law,  and  that  of  the  Roman  Catholic  Church. 

The  uncle  gave  away  the  bride,  and  Sandy, 
with  many  inward  qualms,  stood  beside  the 
handsome  bridegroom.  All  went  smoothly, 
the  priest  making  no  comments  on  Maria,  pre- 


IMPULSES  163 

sumably  a  neighbor's  child,  who  tumbled 
about  under  foot.  The  only  mishap  was  when 
she  nearly  swallowed  the  ring,  when  in  his 
great  perturbation,  the  best  man  dropped  it. 

Following  the  brief  ceremony  and  a  few 
words  of  admonition  spoken  by  the  busy  par- 
ish priest,  came  the  serving  of  cake,  fruit,  and 
wine,  in  the  little  back  room  of  the  fruit-mon- 
ger's shop,  Sandy's  one  concession  to  the 
Italian's  love  of  a  "festa."  In  this  the  priest 
urbanely  joined  them,  while  above  the  mantel 
the  white  and  gold-framed  "certificato"  shone 
down  in  benediction.  Fortunately  the  priest 
did  not  notice  this,  and  presented  a  brand 
new  one  of  the  present  date  with  much  kindly 
feeling  to  the  pretty  bride.  There  were  four 
persons  present  who  devoutly  hoped  that  the 
two  big  brothers  would  never  delve  too  deeply 
into  the  discrepancies  of  parish  register  and 
white  and  gold-framed  proof  of  the  married 
state  of  Giorgio  and  Carlotta! 

Life  is  full  of  these  hazards,  each  one  reas- 
oned in  his  own  or  her  own  more  or  less  en- 
lightened way;  not  in  these  very  words,  but 
in  inward  conviction.  The  time  has  not  yet 
come  when  Sandy  has  regretted  his  own  share 
in  the  deed. 

When  the  two  big  brothers  arrived,  confi- 
dent of  the  parts  they  intended  to  play  in  Car- 


164  IMPULSES 

lotta's  future,  they  met  with  many  surprises. 

Their  none  too  bright  intellects  found  diffi- 
culty in  coping  with  the  combined  forces  ar- 
rayed against  them.  On  the  one  hand  were 
the  fruit-monger  uncle,  and  the  "kinda  frien', 
Mr.  Sandy;"  the  first  full  of  oily-tongued 
suavity,  the  latter  inscrutable.  On  the  other 
hand  was  the  little  family  group  of  three,  in- 
disputably happy,  and  on  their  way  to  pros- 
perity, as  a  visit  to  Giorgio's  employer 
showed. 

Thus  were  their  plans  for  a  city  life  com- 
pletely reversed,  and  the  services  which  their 
sister,  Carlotta,  was  to  render  them  as  their 
due,  they  now  found  themselves  rendering 
her,  as  members  of  the  household  over  which 
she  presided  in  true  western  fashion. 

Over  all  shone  the  white  and  gold-framed 
"certificato,"  the  very  handsomest  thing  of  its 
kind  the  big  brothers  had  ever  seen. 


THE  "MOVIE-FAN" 

Early  one  evening  Sandy  was  on  his  way 
to  a  second-hand  bookshop  in  Fillmore  street, 
where  he  loved  to  pioneer  for  literary  treas- 
ures. 

The  sun  was  showing  red  through  a  bank 
of  fog,  the  afternoon  wind  had  died  down,  and 
the  voices  of  children  shouting  in  their  play 
were  to  be  heard  all  over  the  "Western  Addi- 
tion." 

Where  were  the  parents  of  these  unat- 
tached young  people?  As  he  wondered  Sandy's 
attention  was  attracted  to  a  probable  mother, 
one  of  a  jostling  line  serpentining  toward 
the  box-office  window  of  a  moving-picture 
house.  She  was  a  young  woman,  one  of  a  group 
of  three  flashily  dressed,  gum-chewing,  giggl- 
ing persons,  who  were  consumed  with  mirth 
over  Sandy's  efforts  to  make  his  way  through 
the  line.  Fixing  her  with  a  solemn  gaze  which 
only  increased  her  hilarity,  he  passed  on,  only 
to  encounter  further  hindrances. 

It  was  with  difficulty  that  he  avoided  seri- 


166  IMPULSES 

ously  interrupting  some  of  the  children's 
games  through  which  he  and  other  pedestri- 
ans were  forced  to  pass.  Motor  horns  and 
street-car  bells  honked  and  clanged  warn- 
ingly,  miraculously  sparing  many  young  lives 
cast  recklessly  in  the  way  of  traffic. 

A  hoidenish  little  girl  of  ten,  her  pretty, 
fair  hair  tossing  about  from  under  a  bright 
Tam-O'-Shanter,  collided  with  Sandy  as  he 
rounded  a  street  corner.  The  impact  jarred 
them  both,  and  if  he  had  not  caught  her  arm 
and  steadied  her  she  would  have  rolled  under 
the  wheels  of  an  oncoming  automobile. 

"Aw,  lemme  go!"  she  panted,  struggling 
to  free  herself.  "Jimmy's  it!  No  fair — no 
fair!" 

The  game  was  a  combination  of  "tag"  and 
"one-foot-off-the-gutter,"  it  later  developed, 
and  Jimmy,  prize  gamester  of  the  neighbor- 
hood, was  in  close  pursuit.  It  meant  serious 
work  when  Jimmy  was  "it." 

"Just  calm  down  now,  there's  no  hurry," 
advised  Sandy.  "Don't  you  know  this  street 
corner  isn't  a  playground?" 

By  this  time  Jimmy  had  arrived,  wide- 
eyed,  and  panting  also. 

"Say,  Mister,  she  ain't  done  nothin',"  he 
assured  the  serious-eyed  stranger,  who,  for  all 
he  knew,  might  be  a  private  "cop." 


IMPULSES  167 

Jimmy's  toes  were  peeping  through  his 
boot  tips,  and  his  face  was  far  from  clean,  but 
one  could  see  at  a  glance  that  his  heart  was 
in  the  right  place. 

Sandy  kept  a  firm  grasp  on  the  little  girl's 
struggling  hand,  and  took  in  all  the  details 
of  delicate  features,  slender  figure,  and  fairly 
tasteful,  well-made  clothes.  Where  could  her 
mother  be  to  turn  such  a  child  loose  in  the 
streets  at  this  late  hour,  the  center  of  a  crowd 
of  rowdy  youngsters? 

"I  want  to  talk  to  this  young  lady/'  said 
Sandy.  "Oh,  I  won't  hurt  you!"  he  added 
more  gently.  "You  may  come  too."  He  nodd- 
ed to  Jimmy. 

Seeing  no  help  for  it,  the  girl  walked  along 
beside  him  quietly.  Sandy  felt  the  firmness 
of  her  hand  and  step,  and  there  was  no  sign 
of  either  timidity  or  fear  in  the  clear  eyes. 
"She's  a  game  one,"  he  thought. 

The  few  among  the  busy  crowd  who  had 
noticed  the  encounter,  dispersed,  and  the  three 
walked  slowly  on,  the  boy,  Jimmy,  dropping  a 
step  or  so  behind  the  other  two.  At  first  the 
little  girl  was  disinclined  to  talk,  and  every 
now  and  then  jerked  her  hand  suddenly,  in 
the  hope  apparently  of  giving  this  strange 
captor  the  slip,  but  Jimmy's  reassuring 


168  IMPULSES 

presence  soon  caused  her  to  resume  her  cus- 
tomary nonchalance. 

After  a  few  questions  concerning  her 
name,  home,  and  other  details,  and  receiving 
no  answer,  Sandy  diplomatically  turned  the 
one-sided  conversation  into  general  lines,  re- 
marking casually  on  a  moving  picture  bill- 
board which  they  were  passing. 

"Um-hm.  Ma's  in  there,  I  guess,"  vouch- 
safed the  child,  taken  off  her  guard.  "Or — or 
— maybe  she  isn't.  I  guess  this  is  the  night 
she  goes  to  the  'California.'  " 

"Is  your  mother  a  movie-fan?"  asked 
Sandy  quietly. 

"She  is  not!    My  mother's  a  nice  lady." 

"You  bet  she  is !"  proclaimed  a  loyal  voice 
in  the  rear. 

"I'm  sure  she  is,"  responded  Sandy  grave- 
ly. "All  mothers  are  nice." 

It  was  fortunate  for  him  that  he  did  not 
glance  around  at  this  moment  and  catch  the 
contemptuous  gleam  of  Jimmy's  eyes.  What 
a  fool  this  gent  must  be  to  think  all  mothers 
"nice!"  He  couldn't  have  seen  some  of  the 
ones  in  Jimmy's  alley,  that  was  sure! 

"She  goes  to  movies  every  night  most," 
boasted  the  little  girl. 

"Doesn't  she  ever  take  you?" 

"Um-hm,  sometimes.  And  sometimes  my 


IMPULSES  169 

daddy  comes  and  takes  me  too,  but  it's  awful 
long  since  he  did." 

This  sounded  like  a  divided  family. 
"Doesn't  Daddy  live  at  home?"  ventured 
Sandy. 

"Nope,  not  all  the  time — not — what  d'ye 
want  to  know  for?"  Her  bright,  child  eyes 
regarded  him  roguishly. 

Sandy  felt  duly  reprimanded.  "It's  none 
of  my  business,  is  it?"  he  said  pleasantly, 
winning  her  immediately  by  his  kindly  tone. 
"You  see,  you  look  like  somebody  I  know,  and 
I  thought  you  might  be  his  little  girl." 

This  was  the  truth,  although  Sandy  was 
blest  if  he  could  place  the  man  at  the  moment. 
"Now,  you're  a  nice-looking  little  girl,  and 
you  look  as  though  you  had  a  pretty  name." 

"Marjorie  Manning,  some  name,  better'n 
Mary  Pickford,"  volunteered  the  voice  in  the 
rear. 

"Say,  Jimmy,  you  shut  up!  Who  asked 
you  to  talk?"  demanded  Mary  Pickford's 
rival. 

"Aw,  I  ain't  said  nothin'." 

"Don't  be  too  hard  on  Jimmy,"  counseled 
Sandy,  siding  with  the  abashed,  snub-nosed 
boy,  whose  pride  was  great,  he  could  see,  in 
his  acquaintance  with  Marjorie. 


170  IMPULSES 

"Manning!  Why,  of  course!  Does  Dad's 
front  name  happen  to  be  Peter?" 

"Um-hm,  and  we  live  here,"  announced 
Marjorie,  stopping  in  front  of  one  of  the  many 
shoddy  apartment-houses  in  that  vicinity. 

"Peter  Manning  used  to  have  better 
taste  than  this,"  thought  Sandy,  glancing  over 
the  house.  "Well,  you  run  in  and  tell  your 
daddy  that  two  gentlemen  brought  you  home, 
and  that  it's  too  late  for  a  little  girl  like  you 
to  be  playing  'tag'  on  the  street." 

"It  was  'one-foot-off-the-gutter,' "  cor- 
rected the  other  "gentleman,"  feeling  keenly 
his  oneness  with  Sandy. 

Marjorie  eyed  the  latter  condescendingly, 
feeling  sorry  for  his  ignorance.  "My  daddy 
isn't  hardly  never  home,  what  d'ye  s'pose?  I 
don't  want  to  go  in  alone." 

"Well,  play  around  here  then,  it's  quieter. 
Don't  you  know  that  you  very  nearly  didn't 
come  home  at  all?"  Sandy  could  not  help  ask- 
ing this,  his  heart  hardening  toward  all  irre- 
sponsible parents,  and  those  of  this  attractive 
child  in  particular. 

"No,  why  didn't  I?" 

"Never  mind ;  you're  safe  home  now,  and 
mind  you  stay  here." 

"I  like  you,"  she  confided  unexpectedly, 


IMPULSES  171 

slipping  her  hand  again  into  his.  "I  don't 
know  your  name." 

A  lump  rose  in  Sandy's  throat.  He  hated 
to  acknowledge  it,  but  it  was  rather  pleasant 
to  be  liked  by  Mar  jorie. 

"My  name  doesn't  matter,"  he  answered 
somewhat  gruffly;  the  lump  was  in  the  way. 
Then  a  thought  struck  him,  and  he  fumbled 
in  his  pocket  for  a  card.  It  would  do  no  harm 
to  recall  himself  to  Peter  Manning. 

"You  may  give  this  to  your  dad  the  next 
time  you  see  him.  Good-night,  and  mind  you 
wait  here  for  your  mama." 

"Good-night,"  both  children  mumbled  in- 
differently. Their  minds  were  too  intent  upon 
deciphering  the  name  of  the  queer  man  to 
waste  time  on  polite  superfluities.  The  card 
was  a  business  one,  showing  in  one  corner  the 
name  of  a  small  hotel  in  Geary  street,  where 
for  a  short  time  Sandy  was  filling  the  posi- 
tion of  night-clerk  to  oblige  a  friend. 

Looking  back  when  he  reached  the  next 
street  he  could  see  the  two  children  seated 
obediently  on  the  steps  of  the  apartment- 
house,  their  heads  still  bent  in  speculation 
over  the  card.  Ten  minutes  later  the  incident 
had  passed  from  his  mind,  and  a  heap  of  dusty 
books  occupied  his  whole  attention. 

One  morning  the  following  week,  Peter 


172  IMPULSES 

Manning  left  his  card  in  the  office  of  the  hotel. 
Sandy,  at  that  hour,  was  sleeping.  Under 
threat  of  hanging,  no  one  was  allowed  to  dis- 
turb him  by  either  knock  or  telephone  call. 
There  was  only  one  exception  to  this  rule.  The 
Blue-Eyed  Lady,  by  a  certain  magic  she  held 
over  the  wire,  could  call  him  at  any  hour  of 
the  twenty-four. 

When  Sandy  found  Manning's  card  a  few 
enquiries  satisfied  him  that  he  would  call 
again.  He  did  call  within  the  week,  this  time 
in  the  early  evening,  and  with  him  came  a 
dainty,  upright  little  figure,  carrying  a  small, 
new  suitcase. 

"Hello,  hello,  who's  this?"  exclaimed 
Sandy,  turning  from  a  tiresome  complainant 
at  the  desk  to  a  full  view  of  the  father  and 
daughter.  "How  are  you,  Pete?  Where Ve 
you  been  all  this  time?" 

"In  hell,"  answered  Peter  Manning. 

"And  now  we've  come  to  live  with  you," 
announced  Marjorie  joyfully. 

"Is  that  so?  Where  did  you  get  that 
stuff?" 

"My  daddy  said  so." 

"Oh,  he  did?  Well— when  do  you  think 
*)f  coming?" 

"Right  now,  I  said !  I've  got  all  my  clothes 
In  my  suitcase — well,  not  quite  all,  but  enough 


IMPULSES  173 

to  do  me  for  a  few  days,  my  daddy  says,  till  he 
can  boy  me  some  more.  Fm  going  to  have  aO 
new  ones  because  he  don't  want — " 

That  wfll  do,  Marjorie,"  interrupted  her 
father.  "Little  girfa  shouldn't  talk  so  much. 
The  troth  is,"  turning  to  Sandy,  "Marjorie 
and  I  thought  we'd  move  down  here  for  a  short 
time.  Things  aren't  going  just  as  we  like 
than  at  h<me— you  and  III  discuss  this  later. 
Right  now  Fd  like  two  connecting  rooms,  if 
you've  got 'em.  This  seems  like  a  pretty  de- 
cent joint  Quiet,  isn't  it,  and  respectable, 
and  all  that?" 

"Perfectly,"  Sandy  assured  him  solemnly. 

"AD  right;  show  us  what  you've  got  Ifs 
about  timA  thj»  kid  was  trrrnTTig  in." 

Within  die  hour  the  two  were  settled  in 
same  pleasant*  fourth-story  rooms,  and  an  ex- 
cited fittfegiri  was  tzying  her  best  to  go  obedi- 
ently to  sleep,  her  mind  altogether  absorbed 
by  the  delightful  adventure  of  living  in  a 

*  |        — ,—      ^nJ-nf  *«••        1-  _     .    _1_-    Jl__  TT_ 

miwu-wwn  notel  wilo  ner  daddy.  He,  mean- 
whfle  was  giving  Sandy  the  "dope"  on  this 


known  much  about  the 


or  eating-place,  had 


174  IMPULSES 

Manning  had  vanished  from  the  customary 
haunts.  Now,  it  seemed,  the  marriage  which 
had  taken  place  twelve  years  ago,  was  on  the 
verge  of  wreck.  Having  been  obliged  to  travel 
for  his  business  firm,  the  husband  could  spend 
only  a  week  or  so  each  month  in  his  home.  The 
wife,  pleasure-loving  from  the  first,  had 
grown  more  and  more  careless  of  home  ties 
and  responsibilities.  Her  claims  on  him  finan- 
cially grew  more  exacting,  her  tastes  more 
extravagant,  until  the  world  now,  for  her,  had 
become  one  huge  pleasure  palace,  with  the 
"movie"  holding  first  place  in  her  fancy. 
Mar  jorie,  meanwhile,  roved  the  streets  at  will. 
The  mother's  pride  in  the  child's  looks 
prompted  her  to  keep  her  fairly  well  clothed, 
although  at  time  most  unsuitably,  various 
"screen  favorites"  being  used  as  models  both 
for  fashions  and  manners. 

"In  short,"  wound  up  Manning,  "I've  de- 
cided to  cut  the  whole  thing.  She's  not  fit  to 
bring  up  a  child,  so  she  shan't  have  her.  I 
stood  all  sorts  of  things  two  or  three  years 
ago  for  Marjorie's  sake,  but  it  was  no  life  for 
a  child,  to  hear  all  the  quarreling  that  went 
on,  so  I  lit  out  for  some  months  and  gave  the 
woman  a  chance.  She  said  she  could  manage 
all  right  if  I'd  cut  out,  so  I  did.  Supported 
'em,  of  course,  but  kept  away.  Then  what  do 


IMPULSES  175 

I  find  when  I  come  back  to  see  my  little  girl? 
Her  mother  at  a  damned  show  every  night, 
the  child  running  loose  on  the  street  for  any 
stranger  to  pick  up.  It — it — was  you  opened 
my  eyes  to  that,  damn  you!  That  cut  deep, 
old  man,  I  tell  you!" 

"It  was  true,  wasn't  it?" 

"Yes,  that's  why  it  cut  so  deep,  and  that's 
why  we're  here  now.  Nobody  could  do  what 
you  did  for  my  child  the  other  night  and  not 
be  fond  of  children,  and  we've  come — " 

"You're  away  off,"  declared  Sandy. 
"Somebody's  been  giving  you  a  fill.  I  don't 
remember  doing  anything." 

"That's  your  way  of  putting  it,  but  just 
the  same,  the  children  told  me  a  pretty 

straight  story  of  the  other  evening,  and  how 
» 

"Children?    What  children?" 

"Why,  my  little  Marjorie  and  Jimmy, 
don't  you  remember  him — little — " 

"Oh,  Jimmy  I"  exclaimed  Sandy  vaguely. 
"Little  snub-nosed  gentleman  with  a  specialty 
for  'One-foot-off-the-gutter!' ' 

"Yes,  that's  Jimmy,"  laughed  Manning 
ruefully,  "He's  a  specimen  of  my  little  girl's 
companions  picked  up  on  the  street.  Lucky 
for  her  that  Jimmy  is  the  fairly  wholesome 
little  chap  that  he  is !  Now,  I  thought  of  liv- 


176  IMPULSES 

ing  here  for  awhile — there's  a  school  with  a 
good  class  of  youngsters  up  here  half  a  dozen 
blocks — and  I  thought  you  could  easily  keep 
an  eye  on  her  going  in  and  out  afternoons, 
and—" 

"And  when  you're  out  of  town — what?" 
Sandy  cannily  led  him  on,  amazed  at  the  guile- 
less assurance  of  the  man. 

"Oh,  I'm  away  now  only  three  or  four 
days  on  a  stretch !  Nothing  much  can  happen 
in  that  time." 

"No,  nothing  much"  agreed  Sandy  with 
emphasis. 

He  allowed  Manning  to  reel  off  his  plans 
for  the  immediate  future  without  protest.  It 
appeared  to  comfort  him,  and  gave  Sandy  an 
opportunity  of  deciding  what  he,  himself,  be- 
lieved the  proper  course  to  pursue.  For  Sandy 
had  determined  upon  one  thing  early  in  the 
conversation,  and  his  future  course  in  the 
matter  was  to  be  based  upon  it.  He  was  not 
going  to  be  turned  into  a  day-nursery  for  any 
man's  child,  no  matter  how  attractive  or 
needy ! 

So  when  Peter  Manning  reached  the  end 
of  all  explanations  and  requirements  Sandy 
told  him  this  mildly,  but  with  absolute  final- 
ity. A  week  or  so,  yes,  that  might  be  consid- 
ered, while  other  arrangements  were  being 


IMPULSES  177 

made,  but  to  nothing  further  would  he  com- 
mit himself.  Good  Lord,  did  Manning  think 
he  had  taken  a  post-graduate  course  in  kinder- 
gartens? 

No,  Manning  had  not  given  that  phase  of 
the  question  much  thought.  Sandy  would  be 
well  paid  for  any  extra  trouble,  if  that  was 
what  he  meant. 

It  was  plain  to  be  seen  that  when  the  mat- 
ters of  food,  clothing,  and  sleeping  quarters 
were  settled  nothing  else  seemed  left,  to  Man- 
ning's mind,  in  the  life  of  an  energetic,  many- 
sided  girl-child  save  a  little  habit  of  "playing 
around  on  the  street."  Sandy,  with  one  eye  on 
his  hotel  patrons,  and  the  other  on  Marjorie's 
entrances  and  exits,  might  easily  accomplish 
all  the  duties  of  "watch-dog." 

"Sort  of  a  cross  between  a  foundling-asy- 
lum matron  and  a  policeman.  Good  Lord!" 
complained  Sandy. 

Manning  expressed  the  opinion  that  Sandy 
was  taking  the  matter  too  seriously.  "Sleep 
on  the  idea  tonight,"  he  suggested;  "then,  of 
course,  if  you  really  object,  why  I  suppose  I'll 
have  to  look  around  for  something  else — but 

Marjorie  has  taken  such  a  fancy  to  you — I 

» 

"It's  my  business  not  to  sleep  at  night," 
Sandy  reminded  him,  "and  when  I  do  sleep  I 


178  IMPULSES 

prefer  a  good  mattress."  Then  he  turned 
away  to  answer  an  enquiry. 

It  was  annoying  of  Manning  to  put  the 
matter  that  way.  All  the  time  Sandy  talked 
with  the  person  at  the  desk  he  seemed  to  feel 
a  soft,  determined  little  hand  tugging  at  his, 
and  caught  the  gleam  of  joyous  eyes.  So  the 
reason  he  was  rather  short  with  the  person 
who  was  engaging  a  "room  with  bath"  was  be- 
cause his  heart  was  softening  most  exasper- 
atingly. 

Peter  Manning  stood  over  by  the  big, 
plate-glass  windows  looking  out  at  the  pass- 
ing crowd.  Sandy  watched  him  during  the 
next  ten  minutes  while  people  came  and  went. 
Manning  was  a  good  fellow — it  was  a  darned 
shame  that  a  woman  could  break  up  a  man's 
life  like  that!  Oh,  hang  it,  perhaps  he  could 
help  him  a  bit ! 

Manning  strolled  up  again  to  the  desk,  his 
cigar  cold,  and  leaned  against  the  counter 
railing. 

"Oh,  all  right!"  exclaimed  Sandy,  goaded 
past  endurance.  "I  suppose  I  can  undertake 
the  job  for  a  week  or  so ;  but  that's  the  limit, 
understand?" 

But  the  limit  was  not  then  in  view,  as  he 
found  later. 

The  following  morning  Marjorie's  visions 


IMPULSES  179 

of  a  life  of  leisure  and  continuous  window- 
shopping  were  ruthlessly  dispelled  by  a  deter- 
mined father. 

At  eight-thirty  the  two  set  forth  for  the 
nearby  school ;  and  that  evening  Manning  re- 
ported that  the  child  had  been  satisfactorily 
entered  in  the  sixth  grade,  with  a  "dandy 
teacher,  and  that  was  all  there  was  to  it!" 

Sandy  was  relieved  to  find  that  the  matter 
was  so  easy,  and  indeed  it  all  appeared  so. 
For  several  days  he  saw  little  of  them.  Man- 
ning seemed  intent  upon  becoming  acquainted 
with  his  little  girl,  and  out  of  school  hours 
they  were  constantly  together. 

Marjorie  always  had  a  bright  greeting  for 
Sandy  when  passing  in  and  out,  and  each 
evening  she  had  some  gay  recital  of  the  after- 
noon's pleasure  for  his  ears — a  donkey  ride 
in  the  park,  a  scamper  on  the  beach — or  some 
other  outdoor  treat. 

"And  no  movie?"  Sandy  once  asked  her. 

"No;  my  daddy  says  I  must  love  outdoors. 
There's  prettier  pictures  there."  A  puzzled 
look  came  into  the  child's  eyes.  "Do  you 
know,  he  called  my  mother  what  you  did." 

"What's  that?" 

"A  'movie  fan.'  What  is  that,  Mr. 
Sandy?" 

Sandy  pondered.    "I  asked  you  if  she  was 


180  IMPULSES 

one,"  he  temporised.    "I  didn't  know  her,  you 
see.    You  know  what  a  fan  is,  don't  you?" 
Marjorie  nodded.    "Something  you  wave 

to  keep  you  cool,  7  know!    It's  not  a  flag,  but 
» 

"Yes,  I  can  see  that  you  know.  It  keeps 
you  cool,  that's  just  it.  Your  daddy  wants 
you  to  keep  nice  and  cool  outdoors,  while  your 
mama  keeps  cool,  or  thinks  she  does,  at  the 
movies,  eh?"  Sandy  was  proud  of  himself. 

"Yes,  I  see."  Marjorie  nodded,  quite  sat- 
isfied. -1 

So  all  went  smoothly  for  four  days.  Then 
Manning  received  a  hurry  call  on  a  country 
order,  and  took  the  evening  train  for  Sacra- 
mento to  be  away  for  an  indefinite  time,  leav- 
ing a  tearful  little  girl  in  the  arms  of  a  pro- 
testing guardian. 

It  took  considerable  diplomacy  and  an 
hour  or  so  of  story-telling  before  the  child 
could  be  induced  to  go  to  her  room  and  settle 
down  for  the  night.  All  hints  referring  to 
the  pleasures  of  playing  assistant  night-clerk 
were  frowned  down  by  Sandy,  and  finally, 
when  at  eleven-thirty  a  peep  through  the 
crack  of  her  door  discovered  a  sleeping  Mar- 
jorie, worn  out  with  conflicting  emotions,  he, 
no  less  weary,  returned  to  his  night's  work. 

With  commendable  forethought  breakfast 


IMPULSES  181 

for  the  child  had  been  arranged  for  at  a  near- 
by waffle  kitchen,  to  be  eaten  under  the  chap- 
eronage  of  the  good-natured,  stout  proprie- 
tress well-known  to  Sandy.  His  plans  ended 
there,  and  it  was  not  until  he  awoke  with  a 
start  at  noon  on  the  following  day  that  Mar- 
jorie's  necessity  for  lunching  and  also  dining, 
slapped  his  memory. 

He  rose  hastily,  thereby  giving  himself  a 
headache,  and  descended  to  the  office. 

"Have  you  seen  Marjorie  this  morning?" 
he  asked  Wainwright,  the  day-clerk. 

"Nope.  Oh,  yes — yes,  saw  her  go  out  to 
breakfast  about  eight." 

"Is  that  all?" 

"A  crowd  came  in  on  the  eight-thirty.  I 
guess  I  missed  her  when  she  left  for  school. 
She's  all  right;  you  should  worry!" 

Sandy  tried  to  agree  with  this,  but  after 
all,  his  was  the  responsibility,  not  Wain- 
wright's.  He  was  starting  upstairs  again 
when  Wainwright  remembered  more  about 
Marjorie. 

"A  lady  called  about  ten-thirty  to  see  her," 
he  remarked  casually. 

Sandy  started.    "A  lady!    What  lady?" 

"Didn't  leave  her  name." 

Sandy  returned  quickly  to  the  desk.  "What 
did  she  look  like?  What  did  she  say?" 


182  IMPULSES 

Wainwright,  surprised  into  giving  details, 
tried  to  remember.  "Sort  of  a  'fluffy-ruffles, 
movie  fan/  I  guess.  Began  by  asking  some 
questions  about  the  show  there."  He  indicat- 
ed a  moving-picture  poster  displayed  in  the 
lobby.  "Then  she  looked  over  the  register 
awhile." 

Sandy  groaned. 

"Say,  what's  the  matter?"  demanded  the 
other.  "There  ain't  no  law  against  a  woman's 
looking  at  a  hotel  register,  is  there?" 

"No,  no,  of  course  not!"  Sandy  was  forced 
to  admit.  "What  next?" 

"She  didn't  seem  much  interested,  but  she 
did  ask  if  Mr.  Manning  and  his  daughter  were 
to  remain  here  long,  and  where  the  little  girl 
was." 

"And  of  course  you  told  her!" 

"Yes,  I  did!"  snapped  Wainwright.  "If 
you're  so  particular  about  your  pet  you'll  have 
to  stay  on  the  job  yourself." 

This  was  unreasonable  of  the  day-clerk, 
who  did  not  know  how  much  was  involved  in 
the  apparently  casual  enquiry  of  the  lady. 
"What's  it  to  you?"  he  wound  up  more  ami- 
cably, seeing  plainly  that  something  was 
wrong. 

"That  probably  was  the  child's  mother, 
and  she's  trying  to  get  her  back  again.  Now 


IMPULSES  183 

I've  promised  Peter  Manning  that  she  shan't 
have  her — not  while  he's  away,  at  any  rate." 

"You're  in  for  a  sweet  scrap,"  said  Wain- 
wright,  surveying  Sandy  with  commisera- 
tion. "Why,  in  hell,  didn't  you  warn  me? 
How  could  I  know?" 

"I  never  looked  for  anything  like  this." 

"Why,  saving  your  presence,  any  fool 
might  have  known  that  the  woman  would 
search  the  hotel  and  boarding-house  registers. 
Nothing  could  be  simpler." 

"So  it  seems,"  agreed  Sandy. 

At  three  o'clock  he  impatiently  looked  out 
for  a  lightly-running  little  figure  returning 
from  school,  but  none  came.  It  was  past  six 
when  Marjorie  appeared  in  the  office  doorway, 
a  trifle  doubtful  as  to  her  reception.  With 
impatience  in  his  heart  Sandy  smiled  encour- 
agingly. 

"Well?"  he  enquired,  pointing  silently  up 
at  the  solemn  office  clock. 

"I  know — I  did — promise  Daddy  to  come 
straight  home  from  school,"  stammered  the 
child ;  "but — but  Mama  came  to  school  for  me, 
and — "  her  eyes  glistened  as  she  warmed  to 
her  subject — "and  she  took  me  to  see  'The 
Price  of  her  Soul.'  Oh,  it  was  perfectly  grand, 
Mr.  Sandy!" 


184  IMPULSES 

"Yes,  I'm  sure  it  was."  His  tone  was  not 
convincing. 

"Don't  you  like  movies,  Mr.  Sandy?" 

"Oh,  yes,  I  adore  them!  I  think  they're 
cute,"  he  assured  her.  "Now  run  away  and 
get  ready  for  dinner.  It's  time  to  eat." 

"Yes,  I  must  hurry.  My  mama's  coming 
after  dinner  to  talk  to  you." 

"What's  that?" 

"I  said  my  mama's  coming — " 

"Good  Lord!    I  heard  you.    Hurry  up!" 

Marjorie  scampered  to  the  elevator,  pon- 
dering over  the  vagaries  of  the  middle-aged, 
and  in  ten  minutes  was  down  again,  bathed 
and  brushed,  ready  for  the  evening  meal. 

When  Mrs.  Peter  Manning,  flashily,  but 
most  becomingly,  "dressed  to  kill,"  sauntered 
into  the  hotel  lobby  that  evening  she  encoun- 
tered at  the  desk  an  entirely  different  person 
from  the  affable  gentleman  of  the  morning.  A 
half-dozen  or  more  persons  were  sitting 
quietly  about  in  rocking-chairs.  The  deter- 
mined-looking man,  turning  over  some  rec- 
ords behind  the  counter,  glanced  up  enquir- 
ingly, and  realised  immediately  who  the 
woman  was.  She  smiled  confidently,  and 
Sandy  inwardly  cursed  heredity  which  had 
passed  on  a  bit  of  that  smile  to  the  child  Mar- 
jorie. He  had  an  annoying  remembrance  of 


IMPULSES  185 

the  smile  quite  aside  from  its  sweetness  on 
Marjorie's  lips.  In  the  back  of  his  brain  was 
an  exasperated  query — where  had  he  seen  the 
woman  before? 

"I'd  like  to  see  Marjorie  Manning/'  de- 
manded her  mother. 

"Sorry,  but  she  has  retired." 

"Oh,  then,  I'll  just  run  up  to  her  room !" 

"She  is  asleep,  and  guests  are  not  shown 
upstairs  at  this  hour  unless  by  invitation." 

"But  I  am  a  very  intimate— why,  Marjorie 
was  out  with  me  all  afternoon.  I — " 

"Yes/'  answered  Sandy  sternly;  "that  was 
expressly  against  her  father's  orders.  It  must 
not  happen  again." 

"Who  are  you,  I  should  like  to  know,  to 
tell  me  what  I  shall  or  shall  not  do  with  my 
own  child !"  exclaimed  the  woman  angrily. 

Several  men  looked  up  curiously  from 
their  evening  papers.  Sandy  hushed  her  loud 
tones  by  a  glance,  and  a  lowering  of  his  own 
voice. 

"So  you  are  Mrs.  Manning?" 

"Yes,  and  I  have  a  right  to  see  my  own 
child !  I'd  like  to  know  what  right  you  have  to 
prevent  me?" 

"The  right  her  father  gave  me  when  he 
left  town  last  night,  and  I  intend  to  carry  out 
his  wishes." 


186  IMPULSES 

"Oh,  you  do?"  she  defied,  starting  for  the 
elevator. 

"Yes,"  declared  Sandy,  motioning  to  the 
keenly  interested  office-boy  who  promptly 
closed  the  elevator  doors. 

"Now,"  continued  Sandy,  standing  on  the 
lowest  tread  of  the  stairs ;  "I  advise  you  to  go 
home,  Mrs.  Manning,  and  think  over  this  mat- 
ter seriously  before  doing  anything  rash.  You 
are  not  going  to  see  Marjorie  if  I  can  prevent 
it  until  her  father  returns.  Then,  of  course, 
it  will  be  a  question  for  him  to  decide." 

"Him  to  decide !  Him  to  decide !"  repeated 
the  angry  woman.  "Anybody'd  think  I,  her 
own  mother,  had  nothing  to  do  with  her !  I'll 
just  have  you  know — " 

"Shuh!  I  don't  think  it's  worth  while 
making  a  scene,"  advised  Sandy.  "It  would 
be  very  easy  for  me  to  report  you  at  this  hour 
of  the  evening." 

In  truth,  an  officer  of  the  law,  fingering  his 
club  importantly,  as  though  itching  for  com- 
bat, was  at  that  moment  passing  the  plate- 
glass  windows.  Sandy  nodded  toward  him  sig- 
nificantly. 

Mrs.  Manning  flushed  still  more  angrily, 
seeing  the  futility  of  pressing  the  matter  at 
present.  Sandy,  watching  her  intently, 
thought  how  easily  she  could  be  mistaken  for 


IMPULSES  187 

an  undesirable  visitor  of  the  night,  and  how, 
had  he  so  wished,  he  could  turn  the  scales 
against  her. 

She  paled,  and  tossed  her  head  carelessly, 
laughing  with  strident  tones,  and  then  Sandy 
mentally  placed  her.  He  remembered  a  line 
of  people  edging  up  to  a  moving-picture  box- 
office,  and  he  felt  again  the  ridicule  of  three 
empty-headed  young  women. 

"I'll  be  around  in  the  morning/'  she  an- 
nounced, for  the  edification  of  the  occupants 
of  the  rocking-chairs  and  the  elevator-boy, 
who  had  cautiously  opened  the  doors  again.  "I 
was  on  my  way  to  the  show  up  here,  so  I 
thought  Fd  drop  in.  Tell  Mar  jorie  I  was  here, 
please.  Good-night." 

"Good-night,"  responded  Sandy  civilly, 
opening  the  street  door,  and  allowing  the 
"movie-fan"  to  sweep  past  him;  that  is,  if 
skirts  so  short  that  they  displayed  several 
inches  of  flesh-colored  stockings  could  be  cor- 
rectly said  to  sweep. 

Then  began  one  of  the  most  exacting 
weeks  of  Sandy's  existence,  when  evenings  of 
work  were  interlarded  with  story-telling  or- 
gies, frequently  interrupted  by  impromptu 
games  of  "hide-and-seek,"  when  always  the 
same  irate,  highly-colored  woman  was  "it."  A 
week  during  which  his  morning's  repose  was 


188  IMPULSES 

restless  and  uncertain,  broken  by  thoughts  of 
the  possible  abduction  of  his  little  charge. 

Marjorie  was  now  under  the  strictest  or- 
ders to  return  to  the  hotel  for  lunch,  and  after 
school  on  the  stroke  of  dismissal.  After  her 
breakfast  with  her  guardian,  Tom,  the  office- 
boy,  thought  it  great  fun  to  see  her  safely  into 
the  school-yard.  Many  and  circuitous  were 
the  routes  they  took  to  elude  the  "swell  dame" 
in  case  she  tried  to  make  a  capture  in  the 
street. 

At  noon,  Sandy,  cutting  short  his  hours  of 
rest,  was  ready  for  her  to  lunch  with  him. 
Three  o'clock  found  him  walking  toward  the 
school  to  meet  her  with  some  plan  for  the 
afternoon. 

Late  each  day  a  gaily-dressed  woman 
walked  up  and  down  past  the  hotel,  ostensibly 
examining  theatre-posters,  to  disappear  for 
an  hour  or  so  into  any  one  of  the  numerous 
motion-picture  houses  in  the  vicinity. 

Each  evening  she  sat  in  the  hotel  lobby,  oc- 
cupied with  newspapers  or  "vanity  bag,"  im- 
patiently tapping  her  high-heeled,  high-priced 
shoes  on  the  tessellated  floor;  but  a  pretty, 
fair-haired  little  girl  never  appeared  in  the 
office  during  that  time. 

Sandy  sat  at  the  desk;  and  the  elevator- 
boy,  seeming  to  be  in  his  complete  confidence, 


IMPULSES  189 

worked,  one  might  say,  on  the  same  spring. 
Evening  after  evening  the  lady  sat  there,  un- 
til the  game  grew  irksome,  and  the  policeman, 
patrolling  outside,  appeared  a  menace  to 
which  her  courage  was  not  equal. 

Then,  all  unknown  to  Mrs.  Peter,  the  sec- 
ond week  of  Manning's  absence  proved  to  be 
vacation  week  at  school,  and,  resultant  of  one 
of  Sandy's  inspirations,  Mar jorie  was  spirited 
across  the  bay,  and  into  the  home  of  the  Blue- 
Eyed-Lady,  who  welcomed  the  chance  to  help 
in  this  interesting  bit  of  life's  patchwork. 

While  her  mother,  outwitted,  sat  tapping 
her  impatient  heels  in  the  hotel  lobby,  Mar- 
jorie  spent  seven  ecstatic  days  and  seven 
restful  nights,  quite  out  of  the  reach  of  city 
temptations  and  "movie  fans." 

At  the  end  of  two  weeks  when  Peter  Man- 
ning returned,  there  was  a  reckoning  one 
evening.  Marjorie  had  been  brought  back  to 
the  hotel  that  afternoon,  and  an  exceedingly 
excited  young  person  greeted  her  father  when 
at  six  o'clock  he  hurried  in. 

During  the  dinner  hour  and  for  some 
time  later  there  was  no  conversation  save 
glowing  descriptions  from  Marjorie,  drawn 
out  by  her  father's  interested  questioning, 
concerning  her  wonderful  vacation  week. 

Sandy,  who  sat  by  attending  to  his  work, 


190  IMPULSES 

was  strangely  abstracted,  Manning  thought. 
Seated  with  his  back  toward  the  entrance  he 
could  not  see  what  Sandy  saw — a  gaudily- 
dressed  woman  sauntering  by  with  the  even- 
ing crowd,  who,  when  she  saw  the  father  and 
child  intent  upon  each  other,  moved  quickly 
out  of  sight.  Sandy  caught  the  expression 
of  satisfaction  on  her  face. 

The  piece  of  his  mind  which  he  presented 
to  Peter  Manning  later,  after  the  child  had 
been  sent  upstairs,  was  a  large  one,  forcible 
and  highly-colored,  so  that  the  giving  and  re- 
ceiving of  it  lasted  far  into  the  early  morn- 
ing hours.  In  consequence  of  this,  within 
another  week,  Marjorie  found  herself  safely, 
but  unhappily,  ensconced  in  a  highly-recom- 
mended boarding-school  for  young  ladies  in  a 
suburban  town  across  the  bay. 

Marjorie  never  knew  that  the  Blue-Eyed 
Lady  had  a  hand  in  this,  otherwise  she  might 
have  most  unfairly  hated  her.  There,  despite 
copious  tears,  and  frequent  protestations  in 
the  form  of  ill-spelt  letters  both  to  her  father 
and  "Mr.  Sandy,"  she  remained  for  several 
months. 

Meanwhile,  legal  proceedings  for  the 
separation  of  the  parents  were  pending. 
Terms  concerning  the  child  could  not  be 
agreed  upon,  and  contentions  daily  grew  more 


IMPULSES  191 

bitter.  As  Sandy  refused  to  take  any  part  in 
these  discussions  he  really  knew  little  about 
them.  On  one  point  he  was  firm  however. 

"No  compromises/'  he  commanded,  "if 
you're  asking  me !" 

Manning  thought  this  the  right  idea.  "I'm 
doing  this  solely  for  the  sake  of  the  child,"  he 
stated.  "I  shall  marry  again  as  soon  as  pos- 
sible in  order  to  have  a  decent  mother  for 
her."  This  appeared  to  him  an  entirely  dis- 
interested and  heroic  stand. 

Sandy  eyed  him  quizzically.  "Going  to 
step  out  of  one  mistake  into  another,  eh?" 

"What  do  you  mean?" 

"I'd  let  well  enough  alone  if  I  were  you. 
That's  my  advice.  Now  I'm  done,  but  don't 
come  prating  to  me  about  getting  another 
mother  for  Marjorie!" 

This  was  one  of  Sandy's  busy  evenings, 
when  Manning's  affairs  bored  him  extremely. 
Those  upon  which  he  was  even  more  bored 
were  the  ones  when  Mrs.  Peter  Manning  chose 
to  come  and  air  her  grievances,  and  flaunt  her 
wounded  maternal  feelings  in  his  unrespon- 
sive face.  These  ran  through  the  whole  gam- 
ut of  emotions  from  the  softly  alluring  fem- 
inine to  the  nobly  heroic.  The  woman  haunted 
both  his  waking  and  his  sleeping  hours.  No 
nightmare  was  complete  without  her.  Event- 


192  IMPULSES 

ually  the  interest,  and  then  the  suspicion,  of 
the  occupants  of  the  office  rocking-chairs  be- 
came aroused.  It  was  noticed  that  a  bond  of 
some  sort,  whether  agreeable  or  not  they  could 
not  judge,  existed  between  this  frequent  vis- 
itor and  the  quiet  night-clerk. 

Suddenly  her  visits  ceased.  A  pleasant 
void  was  left  in  the  office  one  evening,  fol- 
lowed by  another  and  still  another.  Weeks 
went  by,  and  the  woman  did  not  come  again. 
Peter  Manning  gave  up  his  rooms,  and  for 
several  months  thereafter  Sandy  would  have 
lived  in  peace  of  mind,  had  it  not  been  for  the 
arrival  at  frequent  intervals  of  tear-stained, 
ink-spotted  letters  from  the  young  ladies'  sem- 
inary across  the  bay.  These  he  usually  an- 
swered. When  he  did  not  they  only  came 
oftener,  causing  him  much  anguish  of  soul, 
which  he  crushed  down  under  a  calm  exterior, 
and  assured  himself  sternly  that  it  was  none 
of  his  affair. 

But  Fate  would  not  let  him  off  so  easily. 
His  life  lines  were  still  entangled  with  those 
of  the  Mannings.  Once  a  week  Sandy's  even- 
ing off  occurred,  when  the  day-clerk  took  his 
place  for  a  few  hours,  and  the  night-clerk 
could  then  dine  and  use  his  evening  after  the 
manner  of  the  ordinary  mortal.  It  did  not 
please  him  on  one  of  these  evenings  to  have 


IMPULSES  193 

the  voice  of  Peter  Manning  over  the  wire  urge 
him  to  meet  him  somewhere  for  dinner. 

"Are  you  sure  there's  to  be  no  party?"  de- 
murred suspicious  Sandy. 

"Nix!    No  party,"  Manning  assured  him. 

"All  right,"  agreed  Sandy  promising  him- 
self several  quiet  hours  after  dinner.  "I'll 
meet  you  for  a  quiet  feed.  Where's  it  to  be?" 

"Come  up  here  to  my  room,"  suggested  the 
other,  giving  his  apartment  number.  "I'm  not 
quite  ready  to  go  out;  we'll  decide  later." 

Half  an  hour  after,  when  Sandy  arrived 
at  the  place  of  meeting,  he  was  much  dis- 
pleased to  find  a  lively  young  woman,  evi- 
dently ready  for  an  evening's  pleasure,  wait- 
ing with  Manning  in  the  reception-hall. 

To  cover  the  strained  situation  the  latter 
chatted  with  much  volubility  and  impressively 
presented  his  friend  to  the  young  lady,  open- 
ing Sandy's  eyes  to  the  fact  that  this  was 
probably  the  prospective  new  mother  of  his 
little  friend  Marjorie.  So  Sandy's  heart 
hardened  more  and  more  toward  any  idea  of 
diversion  in  the  coming  dinner,  and  toward 
the  young  woman,  innocent  though  she  might 
be ;  and  most  of  all  toward  Peter  Manning. 

"Let's  go  down  to  Charley  Fashion's — 
how's  that?"  suggested  the  jovial  host. 


194  IMPULSES 

"Any  place  where  there's  food,"  assented 
Sandy  gruffly,  wondering  profanely  why  he 
had  been  chosen  to  play  "gooseberry"  in  this 
party  which  was  no  party!  The  young  woman 
evidently  wondered  also,  not  very  well  pleased 
with  the  arrangement. 

"Well,  come  along,"  hurried  Manning, 
leading  the  way  toward  the  entrance. 

Just  then  the  telephone  at  the  lobby  desk 
rang,  and  the  attendant,  answering,  called  to 
him:  "It's  for  you,  Mr.  Manning." 

With  a  gesture  of  impatience  he  left 
Sandy  and  his  companion  waiting  on  the  door- 
step while  he  answered  the  summons,  whence 
they  heard  only  snatches  of  an  unwilling  con- 
versation on  his  part.  While  they  discussed 
the  present  fog,  which  might  by  tomorrow 
turn  to  rain,  and  other  vital  topics,  Manning 
wrestled  with  an  unwished-for  appointment. 

Finally  they  heard  him  say :  "Oh,  all  right 
then!  I'll  come  up  for  you;  be  there  in  ten 
minutes." 

He  stood  a  moment  after  hanging  up  the 
receiver,  his  handsome  face  drawn  with  a 
mingling  of  annoyance  and  pain.  Then  he  re- 
joined the  two  in  the  doorway. 

"Sorry!  I'm  detained  for  a  few  minutes. 
Look  here,  you  two  go  over  to  Charley's  and 


IMPULSES  195 

get  a  table.  I'll  be  along  in  about  ten  min- 
utes." 

"All  right/'  agreed  Sandy,  with  all  the  ap- 
pearance of  dealing  with  a  lunatic.  Little  did 
Manning  know  what  risks  he  was  running! 

"Ten  minutes,  mind!"  warned  the  young 
woman  archly. 

"Sure!  Ten  minutes,  Mabel,"  and  Man- 
ning disappeared  up  the  street. 

It  was  fully  half  an  hour  later,  when 
Sandy  and  the  young  woman  called  Mabel, 
having  secured  a  table  for  three,  and  having 
exhausted  all  topics  of  conversation  which 
their  limited  common  ground  held,  looked  up 
hopefully  to  behold  a  couple  entering  who 
proved  to  be  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Peter  Manning. 

Events  passed  rapidly  and  bewilderingly 
after  Manning  with  assumed  nonchalance  had 
presented  his  wife.  The  unwelcome  dinner 
invitation  and  the  still  more  unwelcome 
guests  weighed  more  and  more  heavily  upon 
Sandy's  spirits.  His  depression  did  not  have 
the  slightest  effect  upon  the  spirits  of  the  la- 
dies. Although  total  strangers  to  each  other, 
with  true  feminine  guile,  and  utterly  irre- 
spective of  what  their  feline  attitude  might  be 
toward  each  other  on  the  morrow,  they  were 
to  all  intents  and  purposes  the  dearest  of 
friends.  Manning  was  fooled  by  this  pleas;- 


196  IMPULSES 

ant  atmosphere.  Not  so  Sandy.  He  retreated 
still  further  into  his  shell  of  ironic  indiffer- 
ence. This  mood  was  received  with  much  pre- 
tended amusement  by  Mrs.  Manning.  She 
saw  a  possible  flirtation  along  these  lines — a 
way  to  bring  her  husband  to  terms.  "I'll  just 
show  him!"  she  thought;  and  began  to  spread 
her  net  for  the  wary  Sandy. 

For  a  time  she  kept  her  head,  but  an  hour 
or  so  of  highly-seasoned  food,  wine,  and  bril- 
liant lights,  changed  her  tactics  from  ones 
mildly  annoying  to  those  exceedingly  distaste- 
ful. 

"Say,  d'ye  know,"  she  whispered,  coquet- 
tishly  touching  Sandy's  wine-glass  with  her 
own,  "it  would  be  fun  to  make  old  Pete  jeal- 
ous, wouldn't  it?" 

"Is  that  your  idea  of  fun?" 

"Um-hm.  You  men  are  all  alike.  It's 
dead  easy  to  make  'em  jealous.  Say,  are  you 
game?" 

"Sure,  I'm  game,  but  not  your  kind  of  a 
game,"  answered  Sandy. 

Meantime,  Manning's  attentions  were  ap- 
parently all  devoted  to  Mabel,  yet  he  was  not 
blind  to  the  maneuvers  of  his  partially  di- 
vorced wife. 

These  were  not  having  the  desired  effect 
as  planned  by  Mrs.  Manning,  for  instead  of 


IMPULSES  197 

creating  jealousy  in  her  whilom  husband's 
mind,  and  regret  over  lost  claims  to  her 
charms,  they  were  merely  arousing  a  mis- 
taken indignation  and  contempt  for  his  ill- 
used  friend. 

Mabel's  suspicions,  influenced  by  his  own, 
were  also  sent  in  this  direction ;  although  se- 
cretly, as  one  woman  to  another,  her  real 
venom  was  directed  toward  the  wife,  who,  she 
could  plainly  see,  was  fighting  with  these  ill- 
concealed  weapons  to  regain  what  she  consid- 
ered her  own. 

Various  rumors,  put  aside  at  the  time  as 
nonsense,  recurred  now  to  Manning,  of  the 
evenings  passed  by  his  wife  in  the  lobby  of 
Sandy's  hotel. 

Had  they  been  idle  rumors?  Would  she 
have  gone  there  evening  after  evening  merely 
to  make  her  claims  on  Sandy's  sympathy? 
She  must  have  received  encouragement  for 
her  visits.  Manning  flattered  himself  that  he 
knew  men  pretty  damned  well.  One  always 
had  to  look  out  for  these  quiet,  self-contained 
chaps!  Coming  to  this  conclusion,  Manning 
rose  abruptly,  when  two  hours  of  this  ill-as- 
sorted companionship  had  brought  them  all  to 
the  verge  of  weariness. 

"Time  to  call  this  party  off,"  he  an- 
nounced. "Sorry,  but  I've  got  a  business  ap- 


198  IMPULSES 

pointment  at  nine.  I  couldn't  get  out  of  it." 
He  met  his  companion's  look  of  surprise  un- 
flinchingly, putting  aside  as  forgotten  the 
"show"  spoken  of  earlier  in  the  evening.  "I 
have  time  to  take  you  home,  Mabel.  Just 
oblige  me  by  seeing  Mrs.  Manning  home,  will 
you,  Sandy?  You  and  she  seem  to  have  plenty 
to  talk  about!" 

They  left  the  restaurant,  as  many  parties 
do,  rather  the  worse  for  having  entered  it, 
and  Sandy,  still  grimly  "game,"  though  not 
the  game  of  Mrs.  Manning,  called  a  taxi-cab 
for  the  highly  jubilant,  and  now  slightly  in- 
toxicated lady.  Paying  no  attention  to  her  in- 
ane chatter,  he  settled  himself  as  comfortably 
as  circumstances  permitted  in  his  half  of  the 
seat  and  soon  became  pleasantly  absorbed  in 
reflections  of  his  own  affairs,  in  which  the  per- 
son beside  him  played  no  part.  A  silence  last- 
ed for  several  minutes,  his  only  conscious  sen- 
sation being  one  of  soothing  relief.  Then  he 
began  to  wonder,  and  turning  warily  discov- 
ered his  companion  listing  somewhat  danger- 
ously toward  his  shoulder,  in  what  he  thought 
was  a  sound  sleep. 

"Good  thing,  too!"  he  muttered.  Diplo- 
matically tilting  her  head  in  the  other  direc- 
tion, he  resumed  his  pleasant  thoughts  which 


IMPULSES  199 

at  that  hour,  as  well  as  most  other  hours,  re- 
verted to  the  Blue-Eyed  Lady. 

The  cabman  had  been  given  the  name  of  a 
small  uptown  hotel  of  some  pretensions.  The 
jerk  with  which  the  cab  drew  up  before  it 
failed  to  arouse  Mrs.  Manning. 

"We're  here,"  announced  Sandy;  but  she 
did  not  stir.  He  took  hold  of  her  arm  and 
shook  her  gently.  "Wake  up,  woman,  you're 
home."  To  his  horror,  her  head  lolled  back 
on  the  cushions,  then  over  to  one  side.  Her 
eyes,  half  open,  rolled  up  in  a  peculiar  way. 
Sandy  had  never  seen  eyes  behave  in  just  that 
way  before.  Her  mouth  dropped  open  in  a 
silly  fashion,  and  a  gasp  issued  from  it.  Good 
Lord,  what  was  this? 

The  cab-driver  looked  around  and  tapped 
impatiently  on  the  glass. 

"Here's  your  place!    Two  dollars,  please." 

"Look  here!"  cried  Sandy.  "I've  got  a 
fainting  woman  here.  Lend  me  a  hand,  will 
you?" 

The  cabman  lent  disinterested,  though 
practised,  aid  to  the  distracted  Sandy,  and  a 
bell-boy,  running  out,  completed  a  strangely 
assorted  trio  which,  trying  to  make  a  three- 
cornered  "Lady's  chair,"  succeeded  in  landing 
a  much-tousled  form  in  the  elevator.  Fortu- 
nately few  persons  were  in  the  lobby,  and  the 


200  IMPULSES 

; 

bell-boy,  discreet  of  his  kind,  remembered  the 
lady's  room  number,  and  with  prompt  intui- 
tion guided  Sandy  and  his  burden  to  it. 

They  laid  her  on  the  bed  and  threw  open 
the  windows.  While  the  boy  hastened  for  ice- 
water  Sandy  struggled  with  the  intricacies  of 
the  lady's  collar  and  hatpins.  Incidentally  he 
removed  several  curls  with  her  hat,  and  would 
gladly  have  completed  the  scalping  process 
had  it  been  lawful. 

After  applying  all  the  first-aid  remedies 
of  hand-rubbing,  pulse-feeling,  ice-on-temples, 
and  others  which  occurred  to  their  united 
minds,  there  seemed  nothing  more  for  them  to 
do  but  wait  for  Mrs.  Peter  Manning  to  stop 
moaning  and  gasping,  and  to  open  her  eyes. 
This  she  did  quite  suddenly  after  about  an 
hour  had  passed,  when  Sandy's  back  was 
turned,  arousing  suspicions  in  him  to  which 
he  allowed  full  play,  until  a  real  terror  in  her 
eyes  assured  him  that  the  attack,  at  least,  had 
not  been  feigned. 

He  smiled  grimly.  "You're  here,"  he  as- 
sured her. 

"Here?"  She  looked  about  in  a  frightened 
way. 

"Yes.  They  always  ask  'Where  am  I?', 
don't  they?  Well,  you're  here,  all  right.  Don't 
be  frightened — I  won't  eat  you !" 


IMPULSES  201 

Then  she  remembered,  and  trying  to  as- 
sume a  remnant  of  coquetry,  struggled  to  a 
sitting  posture.  "Gee,  that  was  some  dinner! 
What's  the  idea?  Have  you  been  doping  me?" 

Sandy  gazed  at  her  for  a  full  minute  with- 
out speaking,  gathering  together  the  forces  of 
his  scorn.  He  motioned  to  the  pitcher-eared 
bell-boy,  and  gave  him  a  generous  tip.  "You 
may  go.  I  think  we're  all  right  now.  I'll  ring 
if  I  want  you." 

The  door  closed  behind  the  reluctant  boy, 
then  Sandy  spoke  his  mind  with  great  delib- 
eration. "Now,  cut  that  out,  my  lady,  do  you 
hear  me? — Cut  that  out!  You  and  I  have 
come  to  a  show-down,  right  here  and  now. 
I've  stood  all  I'm  going  to  stand  from  the 
Manning  family,  see?"  A  clear-eyed,  smiling 
little  face  crossed  his  mental  vision.  He  felt 
the  pressure  of  a  soft  hand.  "Although  Mar- 
jorie — " 

"Marjorie!"  The  figure  on  the  bed  hud- 
dled down  again,  and  there  came  from  it  long, 
strangling  sobs.  "I  can't  give  her  up !"  Sandy 
heard.  "I'll  do  anything  to  get  her — anything 
— anything!  Help  me  to  get  her!" 

Sandy  gritted  his  teeth,  and  said  "Damn !" 
to  the  million-trillion  stars  visible  from  the 
open  window.  He  stood  there  and  thought, 
while  the  tumult  on  the  bed  continued.  He 


202  IMPULSES 

hated  gratuitous  sermons  preached  by  canting 
persons.  When  himself  treated  to  even  the 
suggestion  of  one  from  any  over-zealous  "up- 
lifter"  he  was  quick  to  present  an  imaginary 
collection  plate  for  contributions,  indicating 
that  the  sermon  was  over.  Thus  it  was  much 
against  his  principles  to  preach  himself  (be- 
ing keenly  aware  of  his  own  weaknesses  and 
failings)  and  it  was  a  well-known  statement 
of  his  that  he  would  never  again  give  advice 
to  women ! 

So  he  remained  at  the  window  gazing  at 
the  stars,  until  the  strangling  sobs  had  done 
some  good.  His  thoughts  were  not  in  the  stars 
however.  They  could  not  help  but  hover  round 
that  soul-rending  sight  on  the  bed. 

After  all,  what  was  she — that  tousled  lit- 
tle heap  of — what  was  it  Wainwright  had 
called  her?  "Fluffy-Ruffles—Movie-Fan/' 
that  was  it !  A  light-minded,  frivolous,  pleas- 
ure-loving nature  left  three-quarters  of  the 
time  alone  in  a  great  city  full  of  enticing  by- 
paths. What  wonder  that  our  ill-balanced 
civilisation  eventually  casts  these  unfortunate 
bits  of  "fluff"  into  the  moral  dust  heap ! 

The  sobbing  ceased,  and  Sandy  turned 
away  from  the  twinkling  stars,  his  mind  clari- 
fied. 

No  one  but  himself  (and  he  has  forgotten) 


IMPULSES  203 

and  Mrs.  Peter  Manning,  knows  what  he  said 
to  her  during  the  next  half  hour,  and  there 
was  no  one  to  pass  around  the  collection  plate. 
Sandy  left  then,  after  promising  to  call  up 
Peter  in  the  morning,  and  she  had  promised 
to  try  and  get  some  sleep. 

He  did  call  Peter  up,  and  the  interview 
was  stormy,  though  brief.  The  gist  of  it  lay 
in  Sandy's  final  sentence. 

"You're  a  damn  fool  if  you  don't  hang 
onto  the  mother  you've  already  got  for  Mar- 
jorie.  If  it  interferes  with  your  business, 
why — drop  your  business!  To  hell  with  the 
whole  lot  of  you !" 

This  so  enraged  Manning  that  he  cut  off 
abruptly,  nearly  electrifying  "Central." 

Hell  was  a  pleasant  place,  to  judge  by 
what  Sandy  saw  one  evening  about  two  weeks 
later.  That  morning  he  had  received  a  curt 
note  from  Peter  Manning  saying  that  he  and 
his  wife  had  decided  to  try  it  again,  and  that 
he  hoped  Sandy  would  run  out  to  see  them 
sometime  for  Marjorie's  sake.  Sandy  filed 
this  note  with  an  inscrutable  smile,  having 
doubts  about  a  renewed  intimacy  with  the 
Mannings. 

That  evening  he  bethought  himself  of  his 
old  friend,  the  second-hand  book-dealer.  It 
was  some  months  since  he  had  been  to  see 


204  IMPULSES 

him.  As  it  was  his  evening  off,  he  walked 
briskly  along  the  darkening  streets  toward  the 
shop.  Passing  along  Fillmore  street,  his  mind 
reverted  naturally  to  recent  experiences. 
There  was  the  moving-picture  house  now 
where  he  had  first  seen  the  "Movie-Fan."  Ap- 
proaching nearer  he  rubbed  his  eyes.  In  the 
center  of  the  line  now  serpentining  toward  the 
box-office  window  were  three  familiar  figures, 
nay  four,  for  freckled-face  Jimmy,  rendered 
almost  unrecognizable  in  a  new  suit,  was  also 
of  the  party.  Marjorie  saw  Sandy  first,  and 
broke  away  from  her  parents  to  run  joyfully 
to  him.  Peter  Manning  looked  rather  sheep- 
ish, but  his  wife,  woman-like,  all  smiles, 
adapted  herself  to  the  situation.  Sandy  felt 
in  a  great  hurry,  but  Marjorie's  soft  hand 
held  his. 

"My  daddy's  going  to  stay  home  every 
night  now,"  she  announced  joyfully;  "and 
we're  only  going  to  movies  sometimes,  and — " 

"Marjorie,  you  talk  too  much!"  broke  in 
her  father  sternly,  yet  he  smiled,  and  Sandy, 
catching  the  smile,  returned  it. 

"Come  and  see  us  soon!"  cried  Marjorie 
after  him,  and  he  nodded  as  he  hastened  on, 
to  be  absorbed  a  few  minutes  later  in  a  brand- 
new  consignment  of  dusty  volumes  that  very 
day  flung  down  in  a  corner  of  the  book-shop. 


PERTAINING  TO  THINGS  SPIRITUAL 

It  was  when  Sandy  was  connected  with 
the  White  Laundry  Company  and  matters  of 
religion  were  furthest  from  his  thoughts, 
that  he  first  became  acquainted  with  the 
vicissitudes  of  the  Johannsen  family. 

Jack,  the  office  boy,  called  them  to  his  at- 
tention. 

America's  participation  in  the  great 
world  war  was  a  year  old.  The  office  staff  was 
short  of  men,  and  replete  with  well-meaning 
young  women.  Sandy's  work  was  multiplied 
by  unexpected  duties  in  all  directions.  Just 
now  he  was  looking  about  for  Jack.  Where 
was  the  kid  anyway?  He  had  left  at  least 
two  hours  ago  with  a  load  of  clean  clothes. 
While  Sandy  wondered  for  the  fifth  time 
Jack  hurried  in,  a  small-sized  parcel  in  his 
hands.  The  rule  of  no  delivery  without  pay- 
ment had  been  put  in  force. 

"No  pay,  no  clean  clothes,"  was  Jack's 
order.  "You'd  have  left  'em  though,  I  bet!" 
he  assured  Sandy.  "Say,  you'd  oughter  seen 


206  IMPULSES 

that  place.  They  didn't  have  a  bean,  I  guess, 
and  their  furniture  all  bein'  moved  out,  and 
everything." 

"Whose  furniture?"  demanded  Sandy, 
his  ready  interest  aroused. 

"Them  Johannsens  up  on  Jackson  street, 
you  know.  Got  a  whole  lot  o'  kids  and  no 
dough." 

"Now  I  know  just  who  you  mean !"  San- 
dy's sarcasm  slipped  easily  away  from  Jack's 
comprehension. 

"0'  course  I  couldn't  do  nothin'  but  bring 
their  bundle  back,"  he  explained.  "But  I  wish 
you'd  go  out  there  yourself,  I  sure  do !" 

"Me?  What  next!  Do  you  think  I  have 
time  to  deliver  laundry  bundles?" 

"Well,  you  could  do  somethin'  about  it  all 
right.  I  couldn't,  you  see." 

Jack's  earnestness  eventually  had  the  de- 
sired effect,  and  Sandy,  a  sigh  directed  toward 
his  overflowing  desk,  shook  himself  from  ac- 
counts and  bills,  and  followed  the  boy. 

They  drove  rapidly  toward  the  Jackson 
street  tenement  where  the  Johannsen  family 
lived,  Jack  explaining  on  the  way. 

"They've  always  paid  before,  but  I  don't 
see  how  they  did.  They  ain't  got  much  except 
kids." 

The  apparent  truth  of  this  statement  was 


IMPULSES  207 

noticeable  when  they  arrived  at  their  destina- 
tion. Kids  of  the  human  species  swarmed 
everywhere,  up  and  down  the  narrow  outside 
stairway,  and  tumbled  over  each  other  in  the 
crowded  hall  through  which  two  men  were 
trying  to  carry  some  battered  furniture 
without  causing  loss  of  life. 

"Guess  they  don't  all  belong  to  the  Johann- 
sens,"  suggested  Jack,  dubiously  eyeing  the 
scene. 

"I  wouldn't  be  sure,"  Sandy  replied  skep- 
tically. 

At  the  top  of  the  inner  stairway  a  woman 
stood,  a  forlorn  object  in  a  sordid  setting.  A 
delicate  lame  boy  of  nine,  and  two  younger 
girls,  hanging  about  their  mother,  were  show- 
ing the  excitement  of  their  ages  at  any  unac- 
customed change.  The  boy  stood  aloof,  re- 
garding his  mother  from  time  to  time  with 
anxious  eyes. 

As  soon  as  Sandy  saw  her  he  remembered 
the  beginning  of  this  Johannsen  family.  He 
noted  the  full  brown  eyes  of  the  woman,  and 
the  glossy  dark  hair,  still  abundant  and  grace- 
fully knotted.  Ten  years  ago  he  had  seen  her 
as  a  bride.  He  remembered  her  as  Stella  Gar- 
cia. 

:01d  Garcia,  her  father,  ran  a  saloon  in 
Clay  street  in  those  days.  The  girl  had  tended 


208  IMPULSES 

bar  at  times,  and  had  always  a  pleasant  word 
for  Sandy  when  he  had  gone  to  collect  the  rent 
for  his  company  each  month.  Their  talk  had 
run  along  curious  lines  when  one  thought  of  it. 
Queer  for  a  man  in  his  walk  of  life  to  talk  over 
a  saloon  counter  to  a  girl  about  her  soul.  Yet 
that  was  what  had  happened  one  day,  and  the 
girl  had  kept  it  up.  Sandy  remembered  it  all 
— and  now !  The  stairway  was  dark,  the  two 
men  were  for  the  moment  below,  and  he  could 
make  his  survey  deliberately  before  his  pres- 
ence became  known. 

Where  was  Olaf,  the  big  longshoreman 
who  had  married  Stella,  he  wondered.  His 
gaze  now  penetrated  beyond  the  group  at  the 
head  of  the  stairs  and  through  an  open  door- 
way. In  the  window  opposite  hung  a  home- 
made service  flag.  Sandy  seemed  to  see  a  bit 
of  a  scarlet  petticoat  worn  by  the  girl  those 
dozen  years  ago.  The  flag  displayed  one  blue 
star ;  so  that  accounted  for  Olaf. 

Sandy's  musing  came  to  an  abrupt  con- 
£lusion.  One  of  the  handlers  of  furniture  jos- 
tled him  from  below.  "Here,  let's  pass !  What 
more,  missus?  All  this  stuff?" 

"It's  all  I  have,"  she  answered  drearily. 
"Do  you  need  to  take  it  all?" 

"Them's  my  orders,"  said  the  man,  but  he 
looked  unwillingly  at  his  task. 


IMPULSES  209 

"You  shan't  take  away  my  mother's  bed!" 
declared  a  brave  young  voice,  as  the  pale  boy 
stepped  forward  with  clenched  fists  and  pant- 
ing breath. 

"Say,  you  keep  out  o'  the  way,  kid/'  said 
the  man  roughly,  though  not  unkindly. 

"You'd  best  be  quiet,  Johnny,"  admon- 
ished his  mother.  "It's  no  use." 

Sandy,  moved  to  immediate  action,  gained 
the  top  of  the  stairway. 

"Here,  you  leave  the  rest  to  me !"  he  com- 
manded with  an  imperative  gesture  toward 
the  astonished  expressman.  "I'll  shoulder 
this  job  myself.  You  can  refer  your  boss  to 
me."  He  gave  the  man  a  card.  "By  the  way, 
who  is  your  boss?  I  mean,  who  sent  you  to  do 
this  dirty  job?" 

The  man  mentioned  a  well-known  name  to 
Sandy;  one  connected  with  various  prosper- 
ous business  firms  for  doing  their  unclean 
work  on  the  side  while  attending  to  their  pub- 
lished deeds  of  charity  in  the  open. 

"You  tell  him  I'm  on  this  job,  see?  And 
I'm  onto  him  too !"  The  man  grinned,  yet  was 
disinclined  to  give  up  so  easily.  "It's  all  right 
I  tell  you.  Here — unload  that  stuff  down 
there!"  yelled  Sandy  to  the  second  man,  who 
had  given  up  all  idea  of  work  for  the  day,  and 


210  IMPULSES 

had  settled  down  on  the  doorstep  among  the 
crawling  youngsters. 

The  two  expressmen  looked  at  each  other. 
"Who  pays  for  this  job,  boss?"  enquired  the 
one  on  the  stairs. 

"I'll  see  that  you  get  paid  tomorrow," 
vowed  Sandy.  "Now,  vamoose!  Skiddoo — 

ffitl" 

"But  my  mother's  bed,   and — and — the 

cook-stove!"  cried  Johnny,  anxiously  peering 
down  the  stairway. 

Sure  enough!  Sandy  had  noticed  a  bed 
forming  the  foundation  for  many  smaller  ob- 
jects, already  in  the  wagon.  He  rushed 
downstairs  two  at  a  time. 

"Unload  here,  what  are  you  about?"  he 
demanded,  roughly  disturbing  the  lazy  figure 
on  the  top  step.  In  another  fifteen  minutes 
the  furniture  had  all  been  carried  up  again. 
The  expressmen  worked  under  a  sort  of  hyp- 
notic spell,  aided  by  enthusiastic  Jack,  who 
had  known  well  enough  what  would  happen 
when  he  had  persuaded  his  busy  superior  to 
accompany  him. 

During  all  this  time  the  woman  and  the 
two  little  girls  had  stood,  wide-eyed  and  un- 
questioning, too  stunned  by  the  quick  reversal 
of  events  to  show  any  emotion.  Adversity's 
rigid  training  had  been  effective;  stolidity 


IMPULSES  211 

was  their  predominant  trait.  They  stood 
aside  obediently  when  Sandy  and  Jack  began 
moving  their  belongings  back  into  the  deso- 
late rooms.  There  were  three  of  these,  fairly 
decent  in  their  appointments,  and  with  that 
service  flag  in  the  window,  shot  through  with 
the  late  afternoon  sun,  stimulating  their  ef- 
forts, the  two  worked  rapidly.  Johnny  man- 
fully lent  his  aid,  especially  when  it  came  to 
the  setting  up  of  "mother's  bed."  To  the  cas- 
ual eye  this  appeared  to  be  the  sole  place  of  re- 
pose for  the  entire  family. 

"Now,"  exclaimed  Sandy,  dusty-handed 
and  breathless;  "I  think  you'll  do."  He 
clapped  Jack  on  the  shoulder.  "You  may 
thank  this  chap  for  getting  back  your  laundry 
bundle.  He  was  keen  for  my  bringing  that, 
you  bet  you !" 

She  who  had  been  Stella  Garcia  clutched 
the  bannister  rail  still  more  tightly.  Tears 
streamed  from  her  closed  eyes,  and  she 
moaned  until  the  two  little  girls  cried  in  sym- 
pathy. 

"You've  made  my  mother  cry,"  said 
Johnny  reproachfully;  "but  I  guess  you  didn't 
mean  to." 

"We  didn't!"  protested  Sandy.  He  and 
Jack  half-carried  the  woman  in  and  placed 
her  in  a  chair.  "She's  all  right,  eh?  You  are, 


212  IMPULSES 

aren't  you?"  he  emphasized.  The  force  of  this 
brought  her  to  a  sitting  posture  with  a  faint 
smile  on  her  face. 

"Yes,  I'm  all  right — sure  I  am.  Be  quiet, 
children.  Ain't  you  got  no  sense?  For  shame, 
before  the  gentleman !" 

"Indeed,  I'm  no  gentleman!"  declared 
Sandy.  "Don't  you  remember  me,  Stella? 
How's  your  soul  going  these  days?" 

"Eh?"  She  looked  up  bewildered.  "Why, 
of  course!  What  a  dub  I  am!  It's  Mr. 
Sandy!" 

"That's  who — wondering  what  had  be- 
come of  you,  Stella.  Why,  I've  seen  this  kid 
here  day  after  day  when  we  had  the  office 
yonder;"  he  indicated  the  opposite  corner  of 
a  side  street.  "I've  seen  him  at  the  window 
looking  out  at  the  other  children  at  play.  Why 
have  you  kept  him  shut  in  like  that?" 

"Johnny's  never  been  strong-like.  It  was 
the  drink  Dad  used  to  give  him  in  the  first 
years  that  took  such  a  hold  on  him.  He's  never 
been  like  the  other  children.  Then  since 
Olaf 's  been  gone — "  She  looked  up  at  the  ser- 
vice flag.  The  sun  had  left  it  dark  and  cold. 

"Tell  me  about  Olaf."  Sandy  looked  at 
his  faithless  timepiece;  just  then  it  chanced 
to  be  going.  "Gee  whiz,  it's  closing  time! 


IMPULSES  213 

Chase  back  to  the  office,  Jack;  I  can't  do  any- 
thing more  there  tonight." 

Whereupon  he  settled  down  to  hear  about 
Olaf,  and  the  many  happenings  of  the  inter- 
vening years  since  first  he  had  talked  to  Stella 
Garcia  about  her  soul  and  of  things  spiritual 
in  general. 

It  had  been  a  struggle  from  the  first,  she 
told  him,  to  make  both  ends  meet.  A  long- 
shoreman's pay  was  small,  and  they  had  al- 
ways been  behind  in  the  race.  "I  was  often 
tempted  to  go  back  to  the  old  life,"  sighed 
Stella. 

"I  don't  blame  you  a  bit.  There's  no  grind 
like  this  damned  respectability  one!"  Sandy 
was  now  off  on  his  favorite  hobby.  Naturally 
his  listener  could  not  quite  follow  him. 

"Yes,  it's  been  a  grind,"  she  agreed.  She 
told  how  the  laming  of  little  Johnnie  had  come 
to  pass.  He  had  been  tossed  about  in  a  drunk- 
en brawl  over  her  father's  drinking  counter. 
It  is  to  punish  deeds  like  this,  thought  Sandy, 
that  millions  of  armed  men  go  forth  in  the 
name  of  humanity  and  democracy,  while  in 
our  midst — in  our  neighbors'  houses — these 
things  occur! 

The  little  girls  had  always  been  healthier. 
She  herself  at  times  had  been  able  to  do  fac- 
tory work.  Once,  oh  fortunate  interval,  she 


214  IMPULSES 

had  served  in  a  restaurant  for  several 
months ! 

"It  was  you  who  helped  me  all  the  time," 
she  surprised  him  with. 

"Me?"  Bewildered  Sandy  thought  her 
mind  must  be  wandering. 

"Yes.  You  always  told  me  to  keep  my 
head  above  my  work.  That  very  first  day 
when  you  come  in  for  the  rent,  you  told  me 
somethin'  about  my  mind." 

Sandy  was  nonplussed.  "I  must  have 
been  some  fresh  kid,"  he  said  lamely,  ransack- 
ing his  memory  for  a  clue  to  her  meaning. 

"I  never  thought  about  my  mind  before," 
she  went  on;  "sure  I  didn't.  It  wasn't  my 
mind  the  men  wanted  that  used  to  come 
round." 

Then  Sandy  remembered — the  swinging 
doors  of  a  barroom  closing  behind  him,  the 
malodorous  atmosphere  of  a  water-front 
"joint."  Few  men  were  in  the  place  at  that 
hour,  and  those  few  were  gathered  around  a 
pretty,  brown-eyed  girl.  She  was  giving  them 
tit  for  tat,  yet  holding  them  at  bay.  Seeing 
Sandy,  she  had  turned  with  the  same  manner 
to  him,  but  his  business-like  air  had  immedi- 
ately caused  her  to  change. 

He  had  been  impressed  with  her  prompt 
methods.  That  day  he  had  been  dwelling 


IMPULSES  215 

much  in  thought  over  the  mastery  of  the  mind. 
It  was  his  way  to  take  anyone  who  happened 
to  converse  with  him  into  his  theories  concern- 
ing these  things.  "Keep  your  head  above  your 
work,"  he  had  advised  the  girl,  and  she  had 
not  known  that  she  was  merely  the  chance 
target  for  generalisation.  It  might  have  been 
one  of  the  drunken  brawlers,  but  it  chanced  to 
be  Stella,  who  received  and  cherished  the  ad- 
vice. 

Thus  it  had  been  each  time  for  succeeding 
months  when  he  had  called  for  the  rent.  From 
"head"  they  had  advanced  to  "mind;"  from 
"mind"  to  "soul;"  thence  to  "spirit"  and  back 
again,  until  all  unknown  to  Sandy  he  had  im- 
planted an  altogether  unique  line  of  thought 
which  had  struggled  on  alone  through  the 
years.  For  after  a  time  his  work  had 
changed,  and  he  had  occasion  to  go  no  more  to 
the  barroom.  And  now  Stella,  the  bride,  had 
become  this  worn  woman !  Good  Lord,  what 
a  satirist  old  Time  was,  to  be  sure !  Here  sat 
Sandy  now  in  company  with  the  service  flag, 
the  woman,  and  the  three  ill-fed  children. 

He  wondered  what  part  he  had  played  in 
keeping  this  group  together.  Evidently  some 
word  of  his  had  lingered  in  the  "mind"  of  the 
woman. 

Realisation  that  it  was  time  for  the  even- 


216  IMPULSES 

ing  meal,  and  that  there  were  no  signs  of 
preparation  for  it  suddenly  came  to  him.  Per- 
sons about  to  be  evicted  for  non-payment  of 
rent  are  not  apt  to  have  well-filled  larders.  He 
bade  good-bye  to  the  little  group  with  the 
promise  to  look  out  for  work  for  Stella,  al- 
though he  groaned  inwardly  as  he  wondered 
what  a  woman  of  her  type  could  do. 

Within  another  hour  a  well-filled  basket  of 
provisions  had  arrived  at  the  tenement  ad- 
dressed to  Mrs.  Olaf  Johannsen,  with  the  as- 
surance from  the  brisk  messenger  who  depos- 
ited it  at  her  door  that  until  she  became  again 
self-supporting,  the  District  Workers  would 
keep  her  supplied  with  necessaries  from  the 
Agency  near  by. 

The  following  week  found  Stella  estab- 
lished in  the  vast  mangle  room  of  the  Laun- 
dry, and  as  Sandy  observed  her,  coming  and 
going  regularly,  he  heaved  a  figurative  sigh  of 
relief,  believing  his  responsibility  in  her  direc- 
tion ended. 

Responsibility,  it  is  true,  may  have  ended, 
but  the  needs  of  an  enquiring  mind  which  he 
had  unwittingly  quickened  into  action  were 
apparently  never-ending. 

At  first  the  growing  interest  of  the  entire 
office  staff  in  his  association  with  Mrs.  Jo- 
hannsen escaped  Sandy's  notice.  The  regu- 


IMPULSES  217 

larity  with  which  she  stored  up  questions  to 
put  to  him  on  all  sorts  of  subjects  soon  became 
a  matter  of  much  half-concealed  mirth  among 
his  companions.  It  was  not  until  he  had  been 
asked  three  successive  weeks  by  one  of  his 
most  secular  young  assistants  which  church 
he  would  advise  him  to  attend  the  following 
Sunday,  and  another  had  asked  him  if  he 
made  a  study  of  mind  reading,  and  until  even 
Jack  had  so  far  enfringed  upon  his  own  idea 
of  what  was  due  the  dignity  of  his  superior  as 
to  ask  him  if  he  had  a  "soul-mate,"  that  Sandy 
recognised  some  familiar  reiteration  in  it  all, 
and  realised  to  what  an  extent  he  had  become 
mentor  to  the  woman  whose  existence  he  had 
for  so  many  years  completely  forgotten. 

Then  his  characteristic  ire  arose,  and  he 
inwardly  vowed  to  put  a  stop  to  it.  Being  his 
"brother's  keeper,"  or  his  sister's  either,  un- 
der compulsion,  had  no  charms  for  Sandy.  He 
forthwith  surrounded  himself  with  a  baffling 
atmosphere  of  unresponsiveness  which  so  be- 
wildered the  unsuspecting  woman  that  several 
weeks  passed  while  she  ransacked  the  mind 
which  he  had  awakened  to  discover  in  what 
way  she  had  offended  "Mr.  Sandy." 

Meanwhile  the  two  little  girls  Johannsen 
romped  and  tumbled  with  the  rest  of  the  noisy 
children  swarming  up  and  down  the  tene- 


218  IMPULSES 

ment  steps.  Pale  little  Johnny,  too  weak  to 
join  in  their  boisterous  games,  stood  usually 
at  the  window  looking  down  at  them.  Above 
him  hung  the  faded  service  flag,  mute  re- 
minder of  a  father  who  might  never  return. 
Sandy,  walking  home  from  work  each  even- 
ing, often  passed  that  way.  The  picture 
stamped  itself  indelibly  in  his  brain — the  flag, 
already  faded  during  its  brief  service  of  a 
few  months,  the  boy's  life,  with  its  equally 
brief  number  of  years,  too  surely  fading  also. 

One  afternoon  the  boy's  face  was  absent 
from  the  window.  The  faded  little  flag  alone 
caught  the  late  sun  rays.  Sandy  wondered, 
then  crushed  down  his  interest  under  sternly- 
made  resolutions. 

Next  day  about  noon  he  was  informed  that 
Mrs.  Johannsen  had  not  reported  in  the  man- 
gle room  that  morning.  The  connection  be- 
tween Johnny's  vacant  place  at  the  window 
and  her  absence  was  obvious,  yet  Sandy  gave 
no  sign.  Someone  else  was  deputed  to  attend 
to  the  woman's  neglected  work,  while  a  mild 
oath  or  two  was  thrown  in  concerning  the 
sex's  irresponsibility.  Several  days  went  by. 

"Say,  there'll  be  a  strike  in  the  mangle 
room  if  you  don't  put  another  hand  in  there," 
was  the  report  Sandy  received  one  morning. 

" Where's  Mrs.  Johannsen?"  he  enquired. 


IMPULSES  219 

"Don't  know." 

"Well,  make  it  your  business  to  find  out, 
somebody." 

Somebody  proved  to  be  Jack.  That  same 
afternoon,  he  returned  from  his  rounds  look- 
ing much  disturbed. 

"What  in  hell's  the  matter?"  demanded 
his  office  chief. 

"Say,  you  know  them  Johannsens?" 

"Yes,  what  about  them?" 

"The  kid's  dead." 

The  suddenness  of  this  statement  under- 
mined a  bit  of  Sandy's  stoicism.  "Eh,  what's 
that?"  he  asked  with  some  concern.  Johnny's 
pale  face  rose  before  him. 

"The  little  chap  what  wanted  us  to  save 
'mother's  bed,'  "  explained  Jack. 

"Are  you  sure?    Who  told  you?" 

"Oh,  all  the  other  youngsters  around!" 

"Trust  the  kids  for  knowing,"  ruminated 
Sandy.  "Well,  he's  best  gone.  What  chance 
would  he  have  had  of  surviving  in  the  con- 
flict!" 

This  was  beyond  Jack  so  he  wisely  stood 
silent.  Simpler  matters  occurred  to  him.  "I 
— I  think  it  would  be  nice  to  take  some  flow- 
ers," he  suggested  shamefacedly.  To  make 
any  show  of  sentiment,  especially  to  the  office 
manager,  seemed  out  of  place. 


220  IMPULSES 

"Sure!"  was  Sandy's  unexpectedly  prompt 
rejoiner.  "I'm  with  you.  See  what  the  oth- 
ers will  do."  He  flipped  a  piece  of  silver  into 
Jack's  palm,  and  returned  to  his  desk. 

"She'd  like  it  if  you  took  'em  to  him,"  was 
the  boy's  next  suggestion. 

"Me?  Good  Lord,  I'm  no  florist's  mes- 
senger !" 

"Well,  I  guess  she  thinks  you're  more 
her  friend  than  the  rest  of  us." 

"You're  dead  wrong,  Jack.  Get  out  and 
buy  the  flowers — pillow  with  'rest'  on  it — 
'gates-ajar' — any  old  thing  you  like,  but  don't 
bother  me  again  about  it !" 

Jack's  reproachful  eyes  and  slowly  re- 
treating form  haunted  Sandy  for  the  next  two 
or  three  hours  until  he  could  scarcely  endure 
the  silence  into  which  he  had  withdrawn.  He 
cursed  himself  for  a  sentimental  idiot.  "It's 
the  best  thing  that  could  have  happened,"  he 
assured  his  softening  heart.  "What's  the 
good  of  prolonging  a  useless  life  like  that.  It 
should  be  a  matter  of  rejoicing." 

Nevertheless  his  mental  picture  of  the  fad- 
ing flag  and  little  Johnny  disturbed  him  all 
the  afternoon. 

It  was  just  before  closing  time  that  Jack 
doubtfully  approached  him,  in  his  arms  a 
carefully  carried  florist's  parcel. 


IMPULSES  221 

"I — I  thought  you  might  like  to  see  it  be- 
fore I  took  it  out  to  the  house,"  he  ventured. 

"Sure,"  answered  Sandy  gruffly.  "What 
did  you  get?" 

Jack  proudly  displayed  one  of  those  de- 
signs into  which  innocent  flowers  are  tor- 
tured, and  which  custom  and  florists  have  con- 
vinced gullible  humanity  are  necessary  as 
passports  into  a  better  world. 

Sandy  loathed  the  sight  of  them.  "That's 
grand !"  he  assured  the  complacent  Jack. 

"I  wish  you'd  take  'em,"  the  latter  sug- 
gested, emboldened  by  the  unexpected  admira- 
tion. 

Sandy  gazed  at  him  silently.  He  felt  a 
sudden  weakening,  as  though  something 
snapped  in  his  chest.  Irresistibly  his  hands 
reached  out  for  the  flowers.  "Confound  you, 
give  them  to  me !  Close  my  desk !" 

When  the  strange  gentleman  appeared  at 
the  Jackson  street  tenement,  carrying  one  of 
those  mysterious  and  fascinating  parcels  seen 
only  in  the  "swell"  districts,  curiosity,  suc- 
ceeded by  finger-sucking  awe,  were  aroused 
in  countless  small  breasts  assembled  on  the 
doorstep. 

First,  Death  with  its  dignifying  touch  had 
raised  the  little  Johannsen  sisters  to  dizzy 
heights  in  the  eyes  of  their  admiring  compan- 


222  IMPULSES 

ions.  To  this  was  now  added  the  strange  gen- 
tleman and  the  wonderful  parcel.  With  un- 
erring directness  Sandy  singled  out  the  im- 
portant members  of  the  group. 

"Where's  your  mother?"  he  asked  the 
elder  girl. 

She  pointed  up  the  stairs  excitedly*  "Up 
there.  You  can't  go  in ;  nobody  can." 

-Paying  no  attention  to  the  child's  warn- 
ing, Sandy  mounted  the  stairs.  The  task  once 
undertaken,  his  the  grim  duty  of  carrying  it 
through.  He  knocked  gently  on  the  door.  In 
the  darkness  of  the  landing  he  saw  nothing, 
but  his  hand  found  the  doorknob. 

"I  told  you  no  one  could  come  in!"  cried 
a  woman's  voice.  "If  you  children  don't — " 

Sandy  opened  the  door.  "It's  all  right, 
Stella,"  he  said  quietly.  "No  one  is  going  to 
trouble  you.  I  came  to  see  if  you  needed  any- 
thing." 

"You  mustn't  come  in — you  mustn't,"  she 
insisted. 

His  gaze  had  traveled  past  her  to  the 
quiet  little  form  at  rest  in  "mother's  bed."  It 
then  followed  her  pointing  finger  to  the  door, 
on  the  outside  of  which  a  yellow  card  was  fas- 
tened. "Diptheria,"  he  read.  For  a  moment 
he  was  startled;  not  for  himself,  but  for  little 
Johnny.  Yet  after  all  Death  had  come  with 


IMPULSES  223 

swifter,  surer  strokes  than  had  been  expected 
for  the  boy,  and  in  the  end  was  kinder. 

"That  makes  no  difference  to  me,"  he  as- 
sured the  mother.  "No,  thanks,  I  won't  come 
in." 

"I'd  like  you  to  see  my  Johnny.  He's  all 
the  man  I've  had  since  Olaf  went." 

So  Sandy's  heart-strings  stretched  even 
further,  and  he  stood  beside  the  bed  and 
looked  on  the  half-promise  of  a  man  which 
lay  there. 

He  could  not  talk  about  the  boy.  "Where 
is  Olaf?"  he  asked. 

"I  don't  know,"  the  woman  answered 
dully.  "It's  six  months  since  I've  had  a  word." 

"Six  months!  We'll  have  to  see  about 
that,"  declared  Sandy,  although  what  he  could 
do  did  not  suggest  itself.  Women  were  wait- 
ing everywhere  weeks  and  months  for  word  of 
their  loved  ones,  only  to  hear  bad  news  in  the 
end.  How  many  Olaf s  would  be  missing  when 
the  war  was  over,  who  could  tell ! 

Leaving  the  flowers  where  Stella  could  do 
with  them  as  she  wished  when  he  was  gone,  he 
came  away  from  the  bed. 

"Why  did  your  husband  go?"  he  asked. 
"Did  he  volunteer?" 

"Yes,  he  was  one  of  the  first.    He  was  al- 


224  IMPULSES 

ways  bothering  about  his  duty  to  his  country." 

"Humph!" 

"Don't  you  think  it  was  grand  of  him?" 
she  questioned  wistfully. 

"As  grand  and  as  necessary  as  a  Fourth 
of  July  oration,"  was  Sandy's  ambiguous 
reply. 

It  satisfied  Stella,  however,  and  concluded 
the  conversation  on  patriotism,  of  which  the 
flag  in  the  window  was  the  mute  symbol. 

As  Sandy  descended  the  rickety  stairs  and 
brushed  his  way  through  bereaved  sisters  and 
playmates  alike,  he  pondered  over  the  complex 
question  of  a  man's  duty  toward  home  and 
country.  He  was  several  blocks  up  the  street 
before  he  realised  that  he  had  broken  quaran- 
tine rules,  and  that  now  he  ought  not  spend 
the  evening  with  the  Blue-Eyed  Lady  as 
planned,  but  instead  must  seek  the  safety  of  a 
drug-store,  and  the  preventive  company  of 
disinfectants.  Damn  that  boy,  Jack,  anyway ! 

When  Stella  returned  to  work  the  follow- 
ing week,  things  spiritual,  final  stage  of  the 
mental,  possessed  her.  For  days  thereafter 
her  quest  for  consolation  was  unceasing. 

"For  God's  sake,  woman!"  finally  ex- 
claimed her  exasperated  mentor,  "I'm  not  a 
religious  man.  You  must  work  out  your  own 
salvation.  What  pleases  me  would  shock  you. 


IMPULSES  225 

Find  your  own  spiritual  plane — attend  all  the 
meetings  you  hear  of,  you'll  find  something." 

"I  want  something  to  bring  me  nearer  to 
Olaf  and  little  Johnny,"  Stella  insisted. 

"Olaf  11  come  back  all  right;  you  can't  lose 
him." 

"I  ain't  so  sure.  Do  you  believe  in  signs, 
Mr.  Sandy?" 

"When  they  are  good  ones,"  he  cheerfully 
assured  her. 

"Well,  I'm  awful  superstitious.  A  week 
before  Johnny  died  I  had  a  sign  about  Olaf." 

"Yes?"  Sandy's  attention  was  half-way 
up  a  column  of  figures ;  he  wished  she  would 
go. 

"His  star  fell  out  o'  his  flag  there  in  the 
window  one  day.  0'  course  I  picked  it  up  quick 
and  sewed  it  on  again  so  the  children  wouldn't 
see,  but — " 

"That's  no  sign,  that  was  just  your  poor 
sewing!" 

"No."  She  evidently  wished  to  believe  the 
worst.  "My  man  will  never  come  home." 

"All  right,"  agreed  her  listener,  his  eye 
traveling  up  the  thrice-calculated  column.  "If 
you  will  have  it  so,  that  settles  it.  Now,  how 
about  that  new  lot  of  linen?" 

Thus  her  search  for  spiritual  consolation 
continued  until  Mrs.  Johannsen's  "getting  re- 


226  IMPULSES 

Hgion"  became  a  favorite  topic  among  the 
laundry  workers. 

There  came  a  day  when  a  new  expression 
in  her  worn  face  told  of  something  achieved. 
She  kept  her  own  counsel  this  time  on  what 
the  discovery  was.  For  several  weeks  a  light- 
er step  and  more  cheerful  mien  told  that  her 
long  quest  had  been  successful. 

"Thank  God!"  mentally  ejaculated  Sandy, 
observing  her;  and  the  next  time  he  saw  the 
Blue-Eyed  Lady  he  gave  her  a  new  chapter  in 
Stella  Johannsen's  life-story. 

Although  curiosity  is  not  an  admitted 
trait  in  the  male  sex,  something  urged  Sandy 
on  to  investigation.  What  could  it  be  that 
Stella  had  found?  Apparently  something 
satisfying  to  both  her  mentality  and  heart.  In 
response  to  a  guarded  reference  to  his  joy 
over  her  renewed  interest  in  life,  she  evasively 
admitted  having  found  a  "meeting"  that  gave 
her  consolation ;  but  it  was  something  "They" 
didn't  like  talked  about,  it  was  something 
"secret-like."  A  queer  look  came  into  her  eyes 
as  she  gazed  unseeingly  into  space. 

"I'm  soon  going  to  talk  to  my  Olaf  and 
little  Johnny,"  she  assured  him. 

"Oh?"  Now  Sandy's  interest  was  indeed 
awakened.  "This  bears  inspection,"  he 
thought. 


IMPULSES  227 

He  had  no  opportunity  for  gratifying  his 
curiosity  for  several  days.  Mrs.  Johannsen's 
increasing  number  of  lapses  into  faraway 
gazes  impressed  him.  A  remark  from  Jack 
one  day  attracted  his  attention.  "Say,  Mrs. 
J.'s  gone  clean  fluey  since  she  got  religion." 

Also  the  number  of  complaints  against  her 
work  annoyed  him.  The  moment  seemed  ripe 
for  decisive  action. 

Following  his  reporter's  instinct  for  get- 
ting a  story  he  deliberately  shadowed  the 
woman  one  afternoon  at  dusk  when  she  left 
the  building.  He  had  felt  for  some  time  past 
that  she  did  not  go  directly  home  from  work. 
Going  up  the  street,  his  attention  apparently 
all  given  to  his  long  cigar,  he  slowly  followed 
and  watched. 

The  unsuspecting  woman  gave  him  a  long 
walk  before  she  finally  turned  into  a  doorway 
in  a  questionable  neighborhood.  By  the  time 
Sandy  had  reached  the  doorway  she  had  dis- 
appeared. A  long  flight  of  stairs  led  upward, 
and  at  one  side  there  was  a  closed  door.  The 
latter  was  noncommittal,  but  at  the  side  of  the 
stairs  near  the  bottom  a  card  was  tacked. 

"Madame  Sylvia,"  that  was  all;  yet  it  was 
enough  for  the  self-appointed  detective.  He 
turned  away.  Later  that  evening,  among  the 
many  advertisements  which  keep  our  "one 


228  IMPULSES 

hundred  percent  American"  newspapers 
alive,  his  trained  eye  found  this  same  "Mad^ 
ame  Sylvia,"  with  a  little  fuller  information 
concerning  her  business  than  her  door-plate 
had  given.  It  might  have  passed  for  a  dress- 
maker's notice  to  the  unwary.  Sandy  jotted 
down  a  few  mysterious  characters  in  his  note- 
book, and  tucked  it  away  again  in  his  pocket 
with  a  supremely  satisfied  air.  He  was  on 
the  scent  now  of  something  interesting.  They 
liked  to  keep  their  meetings  secret,  did  they? 
Well,  he  would  soon  share  the  secret ! 

It  was  late  afternoon,  and  except  where 
lamps  were  lighted,  it  was  quite  dark  indoors. 
In  a  small,  stuffy  room,  one  flight  up  from  the 
street,  mysterious  forms  sat  in  conclave.  Vo- 
luminous draperies  concealed  a  corner  of  the 
place,  and  dark-doored  cabinets,  hiding  one 
knew  not  what  terror,  loomed  majestically 
from  out  of  pitch  blackness.  Pungent  per- 
fumes were  in  the  air.  Behind  a  canopied 
table,  and  veiled  with  filmy  stuff  through 
which  she  could  be  but  dimly  seen,  sat  a 
woman  in  Oriental  dress. 

A  weird  purple  light  shone  over  all,  while 
a  flicker  of  many  colors,  from  one  knew  not 
where,  came  and  went  spasmodically.  Mys- 
terious movements  behind  curtains  and  cabi- 


IMPULSES  229 

/ 

net  doors  gave  the  impression  that  other  be- 
ings, mortal  or  immortal,  also  occupied  the 
room. 

To  Stella  Johannsen,  seated  in  the  center 
of  all,  they  were  immortal.  To  two  men  even 
now  mounting  the  long  stairway  from  the 
street,  who  could  tell  what  they  might  prove 
to  be! 

"Do  you,  Stella  Johannsen,  wish  to  speak 
directly  to  your  husband,  Olaf?"  droned  a 
voice  from  behind  the  filmy  draperies. 

"Yes — oh,  yes !"  came  the  frightened  voice 
of  Stella. 

"Up  to  this  time  I  have  been  your  medi- 
um/' continued  the  voice  from  the  purple 
depths.  "You  have  now  reached  the  plane 
where  your  own  spirit  may  be  permitted  to 
communicate  with  his — directly  with  his.  Are 
you  ready  for  the  test?" 

"Yes — oh,  yes!"  again  came  the  fright- 
ened voice.  "Oh,  Olaf,  are  you  there?" 

The  door  softly  opened  and  the  two  men 
who  had  mounted  the  stairs  now  stood  on  the 
threshold.  One  was  a  police  officer,  the  other 
a  slight,  brown-haired  figure.  They  came  un- 
noticed, and  stood  there  watching. 

"Shuh !"  The  voice  from  the  purple  gloom 
grew  slightly  menacing.  "Until  permission  is 
given,  you  may  not  address  the  spirit.  Have 


230  IMPULSES 

you  the  piece  of  silver  ready  for  the  offering?" 

"Yes— oh,  yes!"  Stella  placed  a  "cart- 
wheel" dollar  on  the  canopied  table.  The 
shadowy  form  behind  the  draperies  made  sure 
of  the  offering  before  the  ceremony  went  on. 

"Soul  of  Olaf  Johannsen,  are  you  ready  to 
meet  your  mortal  wife?" 

A  slight  pause  ensued,  a  movement  in  the 
cabinet  was  heard — then  silence.  Stella  half 
rose,  the  shock  of  disappointment  distorting 
her  face.  The  medium  repeated  her  question, 
this  time  with  careful  emphasis.  Evidently  the 
soul  of  Olaf  was  in  a  dense  mood  this  evening. 
Again  a  shuffling  sound  was  heard,  and 
slowly,  as  though  from  untold  depths  or  space 
came  a  toneless  voice. 

"Sure — I  want  to  meet  my  wife !"  it  said. 

Stella  sprang  up,  her  eyes  aflame  with  a 
wild  light.  "It's  him!  It's  him!  Olaf ,  where 
are  you?  Is  Johnny  with  you?  Oh,  where 
are  you — where — " 

"Silence!"  commanded  the  medium's 
voice.  "Silence,  I  say!" 

A  convulsion  shook  the  cabinet.  A  noise 
like  a  mighty  fist  crashing  through  wood  re- 
sounded in  the  place.  A  powerful  flashlight 
from  the  open  doorway  swept  the  room. 
Sandy,  following  the  officer  inside,  closed  and 
held  the  door. 


IMPULSES  231 

The  light  revealed  Stella,  half-crazed, 
standing  in  the  center  of  the  room.  Tumbling 
out  of  the  great  cabinet  a  large  man  in  rag- 
ged clothes  groped  his  way  toward  her.  In 
the  excitement  of  the  moment  the  officer's 
searchlight  neglected  to  investigate  immedi- 
ately the  canopied  table  with  its  purple  back- 
ground. 

The  big  man  from  the  cabinet  stared  stup- 
idly about,  then  his  gaze  fastened  upon 
Stella's  awe-stricken  face.  Sandy  and  the  of- 
ficer, watching,  saw  the  awakening  intelli- 
gence, after  months,  perhaps,  of  inaction,  in 
the  soul  of  Olaf . 

The  eyes  cleared  gradually,  until  a  mortal 
possessed  of  all  his  mental  faculties  stood  be- 
fore the  woman.  "Well,  Fll — be — damned! 
If  it  ain't  Stella— old  girl !" 

"Olaf!— Olaf!"  she  cried,  and  fell  upon 
his  breast. 

Next  day's  write-up  in  the  newspapers 
was  in  Sandy's  best  style.  It  told  of  a  success- 
ful raid  on  one  of  the  city's  long-sought-for 
and  most  vicious  dens,  where  innocent  people 
were  defrauded  and  robbed. 

It  told  of  the  use  made  of  a  war-shocked 
young  longshoreman  who  had  returned  in  a 
troop  train  to  his  home  city  unbeknown  to  his 


232  IMPULSES 

friends  and  family.  Wandering  penniless  and 
bereft  of  his  sense  he  had  been  captured  by 
the  agents  of  the  would-be  sorceress,  "Ma- 
dame Sylvia,"  where  he  had  for  several 
months,  in  all  innocence,  played  the  star  part 
in  her  comedy  of  souls. 

Of  "Madame  Sylvia"  herself  Sandy's  ac- 
count said  little.  He  did  not  feel  it  necessary 
to  state  that  the  investigations  of  the  officer 
had  disclosed  a  vacant  seat  within  the  purple 
shadows,  and  that  up  to  the  time  of  going  to 
press  the  whereabouts  of  "Madame  Sylvia" 
were  unknown.  The  account  dwelt  at  length 
preferably  on  the  unexpected  and  dramatic 
meeting  of  the  husband  with  his  wife  who  had 
been  decoyed  there  under  pretense  of  spiritual 
uplift.  It  closed  in  brilliant  rhetoric  with  the 
sudden  return  of  Olaf  's  reason  at  the  sound  of 
the  voice  of  his  beloved  wife. 

In  spite  of  all,  however,  Sandy  was  not 
convinced  of  his  success  as  a  religious  coun- 
selor, Stella's  triumphant  thanksgivings,  com- 
bined with  her  faith  in  his  infallibility,  to  the 
contrary. 

"Yet  we  must  admit,"  he  said — he  was 
giving  the  Blue-Eyed  Lady  the  last  chapter — 
"it  was  my  advice  that  chased  Stella  to  that 
meeting.  I  told  her  she  must  go  on  her  own. 
Thank  God,  my  task  is  done,  and  she's  found 


IMPULSES  233 

her  spiritual  consolation  in  the  mighty  form 
of  Olaf!" 

Over  Sandy's  face  there  grew  a  character- 
istic expression  well-known  to  his  listener. 

"Well,  what  is  it  now!"  she  asked. 

His  smile  was  half-sad,  half-humorous. 
"I'm  hoping  Stella  lets  it  go  at  that.  It  would 
be  a  darned  shame  to  call  Johnny  back  into 
the  flesh.  Poor  kid !  His  the  flowery  paths, 
and  golden  streets  of  the  blest!"  quoth  Sandy. 

And  the  Blue-Eyed  Lady  agreed  with  him, 


THE  BLUE-EYED-LADY 

As  glimpsed  through  smoke-rings. 

(Showing  the  one  great  "exception"  to 

Sandy's  impulse  theory,  which 

"proves  the  rule!") 

Speaking  of  whom 

Dreaming  backward,  it  seemed  to  Sandy, 
there  had  never  been  a  time  when  he  had  not 
known  Her.  Somewhere,  deep  in  his  con- 
sciousness, She  had  existed.  To  be  sure  he  had 
not  always  realised  many  details  about  Her; 
for  instance,  that  Her  eyes  were  blue.  That 
knowledge  did  not  come  to  him  until  one  day 
when  he  climbed  a  hillside  with  Her  real  self ; 
but  whenever  he  tried  to  dissociate  Her  from 
his  early  recollections  he  found  bits  of  Her  in 
all  of  them. 

One  by  one  the  many  qualities  and 
endearing  traits  possessed  by  the  Ideal  Lady 
of  his  heart  ranged  themselves  through  suc- 
cessive personalities. 


IMPULSES  235 

Why,  there  was  Her  quiet  determination, 
"demure  diplomacy,"  Sandy  called  it,  and 
charm  of  companionship,  in  little  five-year-old 
Margaret,  his  first  sweetheart  back  there  in 
the  old  Ardrossan  home.  There  was  the  beauty 
and  budding  womanliness  of  fifteen-year-old 
Mabel,  on  the  farm  where  he  had  spent  many 
of  his  boyhood  summers ;  the  sprightliness  of 
Miriam,  the  young  actress,  when  town  life 
lured  him  later;  the  quiet  lovableness  of  his 
cousin  Elizabeth  at  home;  he  had  always 
wished  more  from  them,  he  could  not  have 
told  what.  All  this  was  never  wholly  realised 
by  Sandy  until  the  wonderful  time  came  when 
these  long-sought  traits  were  discovered  mi- 
raculously, all  combined  in  the  person  of  one 
small  "Package  of  Humanity" the  Blue- 
Eyed  Lady. 

It  was  at  a  period,  too,  of  his  life  when  he 
was  least  desirous  of  seeking  Her.  This  he 
told  Her  long  afterward,  and  She  believed 
him,  for  Her  absolute  faith  in  him  was  estab- 
lished from  the  first. 

Picture  Sandy,  atop  of  a  chair,  in  a  some- 
what gay  little  restaurant  where  he  and  a 
half-dozen  friends  often  met  for  the  evening 
meal. 

Glass  in  hand  he  proclaimed  his  complete 


236  IMPULSES 

emancipation  from  womankind.  "Never 
again  !n  he  vehemently  declared,  amid  the 
jeers  uf  his  doubting  friends.  Not  that  his 
experiences  had  been  unusually  harrowing. 
They  had  been  those  of  a  man  who  lived  the 
average  all-round  life.  For  several  years  an 
unfortunate  venture  in  matrimony  had 
claimed  him ;  now  Sandy  was  alone.  He  had 
called  many  cities  home  since  the  day  he  left 
the  old  world  for  the  new  in  his  first  young 
manhood.  The  day  he  touched  America's  shore 
was  a  link  in  the  golden  chain  which  eventu- 
ally drew  him  to  the  Blue-Eyed  Lady,  but  this 
he  did  not  know  until  some  years  after  their 
paths  had  met. 

Journeying  ever  westward  he  was  finally 
called  to  California.  In  those  days  San  Fran- 
cisco was  a  place  of  sand  dunes,  and  wide, 
wind-swept  stretches  on  its  western  border; 
and  there,  all  unconscious  of  him,  a  Blue- 
Eyed  Child  had  romped  and  played,  and 
grown  to  womanhood,  dreaming  of  what  Life 
would  bring  Her. 

Sandy,  restless,  holding  somewhat  cynical 
views  about  Life  in  general,  and  Woman,  as 
he  knew  her,  in  particular,  crushed  down  the 
life-long  ideals  he  had  half-consciously  cher- 
ished, and  believed  himself  immune  from  all 
women's  lures  and  graces. 


IMPULSES  237 

Then  came  the  evening  when  he  stood 
upon  the  restaurant  chair,  and  proclaimed  his 
freedom.  Even  then  Destiny  was  preparing 
for  his  surrender,  and  the  triumph  of  the 
Blue-Eyed  Lady. 

Ring  One. 

Sandy  walked  the  city  streets,  mildly  puff- 
ing his  long,  Italian  cigar.  His  day's  work 
was  done.  All  about  him  were  hurrying 
crowds.  Every  now  and  then  his  lips  sent 
forth  a  ring  of  smoke,  and  each  one  he 
thoughtfully  watched,  as  though  fascinated, 
in  the  evening  haze.  What  did  he  see?  En- 
circled in  each  ring  was  a  shadowy  form.  He 
could  not  see  it  distinctly,  try  as  he  would. 
Much  more  clearly  he  could  hear  a  voice ;  but 
how  idiotic  that  was!  A  woman  was  com- 
posed of  more  than  a  voice.  In  retrospection 
he  went  over  the  afternoon  just  ended.  He 
saw  himself  in  a  roomful  of  people.  Most  of 
these  were  hazy,  and  figured  now  merely  as 
the  excuse  for  the  informal  talk  on  a  subject 
of  supposedly  mutual  interest,  which  he  had 
delivered. 

These  pictures  wavered,  and  several 
smoke-rings  ascended  quite  empty.  Then  that 
haunting  voice  came  again ;  what  was  it  it  had 
said? 


238  IMPULSES 

"I'm  glad  to  meet  you/'  and  "Pretty  well, 
thank  you ;"  the  last  in  response  to  a  question 
of  his,  "And  how  is  the  story  going?" 

He  and  the  owner  of  the  voice,  in  company 
with  all  the  other  shadowy  forms,  had  been 
drinking  coffee,  and  eating  slices  of  that  in- 
ane cake  with  which  people  think  they  must 
stuff  one  at  these  afternoon  affairs.  Then 
ruthlessly  the  hostess  had  come  and  monopo- 
lised his  attention  to  the  exclusion  of  all 
others. 

But  still  that  voice,  answering  several 
other  questions  of  his,  stayed  with  him  as  he 
walked  the  city  streets,  until  Sandy's  whimsey 
was  to  find  a  figure,  eyes,  and  hair  to  match 
it;  for  as  yet  it  had  none  of  these.  Only  a 
Personality  there  was,  which  made  itself  felt, 
and  lingered  persistently  in  his  consciousness. 

The  evening  waned;  fog  settled  somberly 
over  the  city.  Sandy  turned  his  footsteps 
homeward.  In  his  den,  "Hades,"  he  took  his 
pipe,  tried  friend  of  many  seasons;  perhaps 
it  would  prove  more  communicative  than  a 
cigar.  Puff — a  fine,  big  ring  floated  above 
him !  But,  no ;  the  encircled  space  held  noth- 
ing more  inspiring  than  a  bit  of  his  own  wall- 
paper beyond.  Sandy  sighed.  He  settled 
down  to  read;  but  before  the  morning  paper, 
which  he  usually  read  at  midnight,  was  un- 


IMPULSES  230 

folded,  he  took  out  his  note-book,  and  scrib- 
bled thoughtfully  therein  some  shorthand 
characters.  "Met  the  other  guest  of  honor  to- 
day at  Mrs.  B.'s.  She's  worth  while." 

During  another  hour  desultory  smoke- 
rings  rose ;  but  the  haunting  voice  was  stilled, 
and  Sandy  saw  no  more  visions  that  night. 

Ring  Two. 

One  day,  several  months  later,  Sandy  sat 
among  sheets  of  manuscript,  rapidly  reading, 
and  throwing  them  aside.  He  was  interested, 
amused,  bored,  by  turns.  The  story  did  not 
especially  appeal;  the  chief  character,  a  girl 
called  "Frank,"  attracted  and  held  him.  Why, 
it  was  good  stuff,  he  admitted.  No  one  had 
created  just  that  type  of  western  heroine  be- 
fore, so  far  removed  from  the  ordinary,  cat- 
tle-ranching dope.  How  long  had  he  had  this 
script?  Good  God — four  months!  He  must 
write  to  the  woman.  What  was  it  he  had  writ- 
ten after  meeting  her  that  day?  "I'll  be  glad 
to  help  you  with  your  work  in  any  way  I  can ;" 
then — silence  of  four  months!  What  would 
she  think  of  him !  Tossing  aside  the  last  sheet 
Sandy  drew  his  writing  materials  to  him. 

Next  morning  a  Lady  and  sometime  au- 
thor of  stories  received  a  long-expected  letter. 


240  IMPULSES 

It  contained  a  comprehensive  criticism  of  her 
manuscript.  She  had  given  up  all  hope  of  an 
answer  weeks  since. 

"He  thinks  me  just  another  foolish  woman 
who  imagines  she  can  write !"  sighed  She. 

Long  afterward  She  dubbed  this  period  of 
silence  "The  Dark  Ages." 

How  exciting  it  was  to  receive  so  unexpect- 
edly a  fearless,  "honest-to-God"  criticism  of 
Her  cherished  work!  The  Critic  slashed  Her 
plot  to  pieces ;  wanted  to  dash  the  hopes  of  Her 
favorite  hero;  but  "fell  in  love  with  Her  hero- 
ine." Here  was  balm  to  Her  soul,  and  food 
for  immediate  argument.  By  return  mail 
"Mr.  Critic"  received  a  straightforward  re- 
sponse. It  justified  all  Her  scenes ;  refused  to 
eliminate  "superfluous  characters;"  and  loved 
Her  own  hero !  In  spite  of  the  Critic's  disap- 
proval She  insisted  upon  marrying  him  to  Her 
heroine. 

Of  the  latter — herself — She  spoke  little, 
but  was  demurely  glad  that  she  had  been 
"fallen  in  love  with"  by  the  Critic! 

When  Sandy  read  these  lines  ring  after 
ring  ascended,  until  "Hades"  reeked  with  pipe 
smoke.  He  carefully  scrutinised  each  one,  but 
no  shadowy  glimpse  was  vouchsafed  him;  at 
least,  none  at  all  worthy  to  encompass  the 


IMPULSES  241 

faintly  remembered  voice.  Piqued  by  a  half- 
admitted  curiosity,  balked  by  a  wholesale  lack 
of  detail,  Sandy  groaned. 

"Good  Lord,  I  wouldn't  know  the  woman 
if  I  met  her  face  to  face  I" 

He  soon  did,  however,  as  Ring  Three  will 
show. 

Ring  Three. 

It  was  evening,  and  Sandy,  well  satisfied 
with  his  day's  employment,  stretched  his 
weary  limbs  and  lit  his  nipe.  Confidently  he 
puffed,  and  turned  his  gaze  upward.  There 
She  w£s,  as  he  had  known  She  would  be! 
Perched  upon  the  edge  of  a  great  blue-grey 
ring  appeared  a  dainty  little  figure,  slender 
and  trim. 

"Come  out  of  that,  Woman !"  quoth  Sandy, 
"and  let  me  look  at  you !" 

At  these  words  She  vanished,  and  even 
then  he  had  no  idea  that  Her  eyes  were  blue; 
but  other  smoke-rings  gave  him  details  of  the 
afternoon  just  past.  He  saw  himself  talking 
with  an  old  friend,  a  vaudeville  actress,  in  an 
hotel  lobby.  They  were  awaiting  the  arrival 
of  Someone.  Sandy,  by  letter,  had  made  the 
appointment. 

"She  ought  to  be  here  now/'  he  said,  con- 


242  IMPULSES 

suiting  his  watch.  "I  don't  know  the  Lady  by 
sight,  but  She  can  write.  I  believe  She'll  be 
able  to  do  what  you  want." 

"How  are  you  going  to  recognize  her?" 
lazily  enquired  the  actress. 

Sandy  was  anxiously  watching  the  pass- 
ing streetcars,  any  one  of  which  might  bring 
the  expected  Unknown.  The  actress  would 
just  as  soon  have  had  Her  fail  to  appear,  so 
long  had  it  been  since  she  had  had  a  good  talk 
with  her  old  friend. 

"The  Lord  only  knows!"  replied  Sandy. 
"If  She  speaks  first  I  may  know  Her."  He 
sprang  up  and  ran  out  on  the  sidewalk,  leav- 
ing his  hearer  somewhat  puzzled  by  his  an- 
swer. In  a  moment  he  returned  bringing  a 
business-like  little  woman-figure  with  him, 
armed  with  note-book,  pencil,  and  non-com- 
mittal air  of  seasoned  writer,  ready  to  jot 
down  notes  of  what  the  actress  wished  in  the 
way  of  a  dramatic  sketch.  No  one  would  have 
dreamed  of  the  perturbation  cavorting  under 
the  calm  exterior  of  the  Lady;  and  no  one, 
least  of  all,  Sandy,  could  have  told  how  he 
had  known  that  She  was  the  expected  Lady 
even  before  the  car  had  stopped !  She  had  not 
spoken  first,  and  it  was  Sandy  who  had  sig- 
nalled for  the  car  to  stop,  because  She  had 


IMPULSES  243 

supposed  the  next  street  to  be  Her  stopping- 
place. 

So  once  again  these  two  had  met;  and 
Sandy,  looking  at  the  figure  in  the  smoke- 
ring,  was  vaguely  dissatisfied.  The  business 
of  the  afternoon  had  gone  well  enough.  The 
actress  had  been  most  good-natured.  The  lit- 
tle Lady's  note-book  had  taken  in  many  mys- 
terious entries,  decipherable  only  to  Herself; 
but,  hang  it  all,  She  had  been  altogether  con- 
cerned with  the  business  upon  which  Sandy 
had  called  them  together,  and  even  now  he  had 
no  very  clear  idea  of  what  She  looked  like ! 

But  the  memory  of  a  sweet,  low  voice 
soothed  his  tired  fancy  each  time  he  recalled 
it;  and  gradually  through  his  consciousness 
there  crept  the  force  of  a  Personality  which, 
all  unknown  then  to  Sandy,  was  never  to  lose 
its  hold. 
Ring  Four. 

This  time  the  smoke  frames  the  vision  of  a 
stage,  in  a  hall  well-filled  with  the  usual  im- 
polite audience  attending  a  charity  show. 

The  majority  were  there  to  find  as  much 
fault  as  possible  with  the  amateur  talent 
bravely  occupied  in  trying  to  "put  it  over." 

Sandy,  in  a  rear  seat,  was  there  for  one 
object  solely — to  witness  the  performance  of 
a  Lady  who  had  given  him  a  card  of  invita- 


244  IMPULSES 

tion  the  day  upon  which  he  had  arranged  a 
meeting  for  Her  with  the  vaudeville  actress. 
Now  Sandy  was  in  a  quandary.  Having  no 
program,  how  was  he  to  know  when  the  par- 
ticular Lady  appeared  whom  he  had  come  to 
see !  Perish  the  thought  that  he  would  attend 
an  amateur  performance  lightly,  and  without 
some  special  justification  to  his  own  soul! 

As  he  thought  it  over  in  "Hades,"  count- 
less smoke-rings  encircled  his  remembrance 
of  a  weary  succession  of  acts ;  when  suddenly 
in  the  midst  of  one  a  white-clad  figure  en- 
tered. A  few  lines,  spoken  in  the  voice  which 
now  so  often  haunted  both  his  waking  and  his 
sleeping  hours,  brought  Sandy  to  attention. 
He  knew  Her !  It  was  the  Lady  he  had  come 
to  see!  Later  She  appeared  again,  an  old- 
fashioned,  "Dresden-china"  sort  of  girl,  in  a 
tiny  drama  from  Her  own  pen,  in  which  the 
other  characters  sank  to  insignificance  beside 
Her. 

After  this  he  had  wandered  out  into  the 
open  air,  his  duty  done ;  but  never  before  had 
an  obligation  of  the  sort  been  so  mixed  with 
pleasure,  although  he  did  not  admit  the  fact 
at  the  time. 

Many  of  his  impressions  of  the  evening  he 
put  into  a  letter  the  next  day,  and  this  in  due 
time  reached  the  Lady  who  had  played  the 


IMPULSES  245 

part  of  the  "Dresden-china"  girl.  She  re- 
ceived it  with  delight.  It  was  addressed  to 
Her  former  heroine,  "Frank,"  and  while  com- 
plimenting Her  performance  of  the  previous 
evening,  professed  to  love  "Her,"  the  first  her- 
oine, best!  This  letter  put  the  Lady  in  a 
great  flutter,  and  led  to  an  answer;  that  to  a 
social  dinner  at  the  Lady's  home,  and  many 
other  letters  and  events,  all  of  which  leads  to 
the  next  glimpse  of  the  Lady. 

Ring  Five. 

Churning  its  passage  up  the  bay,  a  river- 
steamer  carried  two  persons  who  now  really 
knew  each  other  by  sight,  to  one  of  the  small 
towns,  a  two-hours'  journey  from  the  city. 
Sandy,  reflecting,  with  slow,  deep-drawn 
puffs  saw  this  picture  clearly.  How  short 
the  wonderful  day  had  been ;  how  wasteful  of 
time  in  so  far  as  the  business  accomplished; 
but  how  fruitful  as  to  the  progress  of  ac- 
quaintance with  the  still-strange  Lady!  The 
trip  had  been  considered  necessary  in  order 
to  meet  the  vaudeville  actress,  now  filling  an 
engagement  in  the  small  town  up  the  bay. 

The  clearest  part  of  the  smoke-ring  vision 
showed  the  Two  on  the  homeward  journey.  In 
a  narrow  little  seat  in  a  secluded  corner,  the 
western  sun  bidding  them  good-night  at  the 


246  IMPULSES 

horizon's  edge,  the  Two  chiefly  concerned  sat 
and  discussed  a  Chumship.  Somehow  a  rela- 
tionship of  this  sort  had  started. 

"What  about  this  Chumship?"  demanded 
Sandy. 

"You  started  it,"  brazenly  asserted  the 
Lady. 

"I  beg  to  differ— when?" 

"In  one  of  your  letters;  I  have  it  down  in 
black  and  white!"  Thus,  the  "demure  diplo- 
matist," and  then,  being  a  literary  Lady,  She 
tried  to  interest  him  in  a  discussion  on  the 
madness  of  Hamlet  This  held  no  charm  for 
him  at  all,  except  as  it  necessitated  the  use  of 
Her  sweet,  low  voice.  So  the  Chum  matter 
rested  in  abeyance  for  a  while ;  but  from  then 
on  Sandy  began  to  feel  something  vaguely 
stirring  within  him  hitherto  unknown,  as  he 
glimpsed  more  and  more  distinctly  the  pic- 
tures of  the  day  just  past.  It  made  him  un- 
easy, and  going  home  that  evening  he  regret- 
ted that,  having  talked  so  much  on  the  trip 
himself,  he  had  really  learned  very  little  about 
the  Lady;  and  further,  knowing  so  little,  he 
reasoned,  it  might  be  as  well  to  see  no  more  of 
Her!  It  was  just  at  this  hour  that  She,  a 
lump  in  Her  throat  at  the  thought  that,  log- 
ically, there  would  be  no  more  occasions  to 
meet  him,  bethought  Her  of  a  tiny  ruse — a 


IMPULSES  247 

thread  She  might  so  easily  throw  out  to  draw 
him  toward  Her  again.  This  took  the  form  of 
a  thoughtful  little  note  which  Sandy  received 
the  following  morning. 

"Just  good-night,  and  thank  you  for  a 
happy  day,"  it  said,  and  was  signed  with  the 
name  of  the  heroine  of  Her  story. 

Ring  Six. 

Now  through  a  bewildering  succession  of 
smoke-rings,  both  distinct  and  otherwise, 
ranged  events  in  the  lives  of  these  Two. 

Sandy,  one  evening,  leaning  against  a  rail- 
ing on  one  of  his  favorite  spots  at  the  top  of 
the  city — a  bit  of  stone  court  and  coping  for- 
gotten after  the  great  fire  devastation — 
thought  over  the  strange  events  of  the  after- 
noon. He  visioned  himself  and  the  Lady 
struggling  against  the  early  midsummer  wind 
up  a  hillside  west  of  the  city.  At  their  feet 
were  multitudes  of  wild  flowers;  violets, 
cream-cups,  baby-blue-eyes,  what  not!  Whirl- 
ing down  the  hill  the  wild  wind  whipped  the 
Lady's  skirts,  and  tossed  stray  locks  of  hair 
about  Her  ears.  Sandy  made  bold  to  touch 
one  of  these  locks,  and  it  curled  thrillingly 
round  his  finger.  His  own  temerity  rather 
abashed  him. 

"It  wants  to  get  there  first,"  he  laughed, 


248  IMPULSES 

indicating  the  truant  curl  rioting  on  ahead  of 
Her. 

She  laughed,  and  fell  against  him,  breath- 
less. "Oh,  where's  the  top?"  She  gasped. 

The  top  of  the  hill  was  finally  gained ;  in 
fact  it  had  two  tops,  and  this  became  a  matter 
of  amusing  dispute  as  to  who  owned  which  of 
them !  So  fierce  was  the  gale  there  that  Sandy 
had  to  hold  the  slender  little  Lady  down,  else 
the  kidnapping  wind  would  have  whirled  Her 
lightly  off  the  hill.  The  fog,  too,  swept  about 
them  in  soft,  damp,  white  clouds.  What  were 
these  Two  seeking  there  above  the  world? 
Neither  could  have  told. 

Sandy,  leaning  against  the  bit  of  coping, 
wondered  just  why  they  had  gone  there.  No 
smoke-ring  picture  told  him ;  but  more  clearly 
than  all  else  he  heard  Her  voice  saying  as 
they  came  down  the  slope  again,  slipping 
among  the  grass  and  flowers,  and  into  the  sun- 
shine; "I'm  afraid  I'm  often  selfish." 

"Good  Lord,  you  selfish !"  he  cried.  "7  am 
the  selfish  one — never  youl" 

And  visioning  Her  face,  which  he  was  be- 
ginning to  know  was  very  sweet,  he  vowed 
that  through  him  or  his  selfishness  no  harm 
should  ever  come  by  word  or  deed  to  the  little 
Lady. 


IMPULSES  249 

Ring  Seven. 

Curl  upon  curl  they  came,  great  waves 
breaking  on  the  shining  sand.  Swirling  in 
they  brought  tiny  shells  and  bits  of  moss  to 
the  Lady's  feet.  She  and  Sandy  were  enjoy- 
ing a  brisk  walk  along  the  beach.  Again  the 
wind  blew,  but  this  time  there  was  no  fog  ex- 
cept far  out  on  the  horizon  line.  It  might 
come  in  tonight  and  embrace  the  city,  but  who 
cared  for  that?  Not  the  little  Lady. 

Many  seagulls  fussed  and  chattered  in  a 
group  on  the  edge  of  the  sand  where  great 
flecks  of  foam  blew  about  them. 

"See!"  cried  the  Lady.  "The  gulls  are 
having  a  tea-party !" 

"That's  just  like  a  woman,"  chaffed 
Sandy,  "always  thinking  of  tea!  Looks  more 
like  a  convention  to  me." 

"That's  a  man's  thought!"  She  teased. 

This  turned  the  conversation  to  conven- 
tions, and  thence  by  a  circuitous  route  to  re- 
ligion, for  subjects  between  these  Two  were 
endless.  They  dropped  down  upon  the  sand 
and  talked,  while  a  yellow  dog  which  had  been 
interested  in  them  all  the  way,  sat  down  be- 
side them  and  listened  attentively  while 
Sandy  laid  down  the  law  concerning  certain 
tenets  of  the  orthodox  faith  which  he  no 
longer  held,  and  the  Lady  contradicted  him. 


250  IMPULSES 

Arguments  were  rife,  sometimes  going  be- 
yond the  bounds  of  firmness,  and  reaching 
"obstinacy,"  as  claimed  by  one  side  or  the 
other. 

This  time  "agreement  to  disagree"  was 
reached ;  then  up  sprang  the  Lady  and  struck 
out  again,  battling  with  the  ocean  breeze, 
across  the  sand.  Perforce  Sandy  followed, 
closely  shadowed  by  the  yellow  dog. 

What  manner  of  woman  was  this,  thought 
Sandy,  who  tramped  in  boyish  fashion  beside 
him?  One  who  claimed  to  be  in  mid-life  of 
experience  (although  he  could  not  believe  it) 
with  a  mentality  to  match  his  own,  and  the 
heart  and  figure  of  a  girl ! 

A  great,  big  question-mark  began  to  be 
noticeable  in  his  mind  now  after  each  meet- 
ing with  Her.  What  and  who  could  She  be, 
this  Woman  who  was  calmly  entering  every 
angle  of  his  life?  Not  entering  casually 
either,  but  remaining  there. 

That  evening  something  strongly  drew 
him  to  read  over  again  the  copy  of  Her  story. 
This  time  he  read  from  a  neatly-bound  manu- 
script with  which  She  had  presented  him  some 
weeks  before.  Interest  in  the  leading  charac- 
ter again  held  him  from  cover  to  cover.  Sandy 
loved  her  more  than  ever.  Why,  he  knew  her 
well,  that  girl !  Where  had  he  met  her?  She 


IMPULSES  251 

seemed  more  than  ever  familiar  to  him — what 
a  life-companion  she  would  make !  Slowly  he 
laid  the  volume  down,  and  thoughtfully  relit 
his  forgotten  pipe.  Puff — a  splendid,  grey- 
blue  ring — and  into  it  immediately  floated  the 
heroine  of  the  story ! 

"You?"  cried  Sandy. 

"Yes,  I  am  She/'  came  the  haunting  voice. 
"Didn't  you  know  that  I  am  that  girl?  Oh, 
dense  Sandy — and  you  never  knew!" 

But  even  after  this  his  denseness  contin- 
ued, for  he  still  loved  the  girl  in  the  story  only, 
not  at  all  realising  the  inconsistency  of  it. 

Next  morning  he  received  one  of  the 
Lady's  frequent  little  notes. 

"Beware!"  it  read.  "We  are  watched! 
The  yellow  dog  is  on  our  trail !" 

It  said  other  things  too,  immaterial  here, 
and  was  only  one  of  the  many  jokes  the  Lady 
loved  to  play. 

Ring  Eight. 

Now  had  come  a  time  when  Sandy  made 
weekly  resolves  to  see  the  Lady  no  more  save 
in  haloes  of  smoke,  only  to  scatter  broken  res- 
olutions at  Her  feet.  These  She  tenderly 
picked  up  and  stored  away  in  the  Treasure- 
box  of  Her  heart.  For  She  knew  much  more 
about  Sandy  than  he  knew  about  himself  at 


252  IMPULSES 

this  time.  She,  better  than  he,  knew  why  She 
perched  continually  on  his  smoke-rings;  dis- 
turbing his  work,  interfering  with  his  plans, 
hampering  his  liberty. 

She  knew  all  these  things  simply  because 
She  was  a  woman.  She  suspected  that  She 
was  The  Woman,  but  Sandy  himself  did  not 
/even  yet  know  that  Her  eyes  were  blue.  This 
ring  discloses  how  that  knowledge  came  to 
him.  When  he  viewed  the  vision  his  heart 
stood  still. 

He  saw  a  cold,  foggy  morning,  and  two 
figures  wandering  uncertainly  up  a  hillside — 
uncertain  as  to  direction,  not  in  gait. 

Bewildering  mist  settled  down  around 
them  the  higher  they  climbed.  It  damped 
their  clothes,  and  hung  heavy  on  the  high 
grass  through  which  they  strode.  Occasional 
rays  of  sunlight,  streaking  through,  lighted 
each  blade  of  green,  each  flower,  and  tree-leaf, 
with  a  sparkling  diamond.  Even  the  Little 
Lady's  stray  locks  of  hair  became  diamond- 
starred,  and  Sandy  talked  about  these,  much 
to  Her  amusement. 

She,  tramping  staunchly  along  beside  him, 
hands  in  pockets  of  her  trim,  blue  coat, 
breathed  deep,  and  struck  out  fearlessly  for 
the  top.  Not  many  yards  further  the  path 


IMPULSES  253 

suddenly  ended  in  a  tangle  of  wild  vines  and 
dead  branches. 

"We're  lost!"  laughed  the  Lady. 

Sandy  laughed  also.  Himself,  lost  on  a 
hillside  in  the  fog,  with  this  little  trusting 
Lady!  It  was  a  greater  jest  than  She  knew! 

"Woman,  you  are  in  my  power!"  quoth 
he  melodramatically. 

She  laughed  again,  and  the  mere  spell  of 
Her  sweet  voice  led  him  on,  with  never  a 
thought  save  to  find  the  right  path. 

"I  choose  this  way,"  She  said,  finding  a 
faintly-marked  trail  which  became  plainer  as 
they  went,  and  finally  led  them  to  their  goal. 

At  the  summit  a  circle  of  young  redwoods 
sheltered  a  sunny  spot.  Great  bowlders  lay 
there,  tossed  up  in  some  giants'  game  of  early 
aeons.  The  Lady  stood,  hands  in  pockets,  gaz- 
ing out  between  spaces  in  the  trees  toward  the 
far-off  sparkling  waters  of  the  bay,  now 
glimpsed  below  the  over-sweeping  fog.  She 
was  in  Her  "mountain  mood,"  Her  thoughts, 
who  could  tell?  Across  the  narrow  basin 
formed  by  rocks,  Sandy  lay,  watching  this 
strange  Being  who  had  come  into  his  life,  and 
by  no  will  of  his  own,  was  fettering  him  with 
golden  chains. 

He  wondered  of  what  She  was  thinking  at 
this  moment;  he  would  give  his  soul  to  know! 


254  IMPULSES 

She  turned  Her  eyes  toward  him,  and  someT 
thing  definite  happened  then,  for  during  that 
long  gaze  Sandy  made  a  marvelous  discovery. 
Her  eyes  were  blue!  She  turned  away,  not 
knowing  of  this  revelation,  yet  sensing  that 
She  had  caught  him  at  some  bewildering 
thought. 

Two  people  walked  homeward  that  even- 
ing in  a  maze  of  unexpressed  emotions,  al- 
though the  conversation  was  principally  about 
books,  and  the  influence  which  Ruskin  had 
wielded  over  Sandy's  early  life. 

Later,  in  his  chair  in  "Hades"  it  was  his 
more  recent  life  that  the  rings  encircled,  and 
a  little  Blue-Eyed  Lady  smiled  out  at  him 
from  each  one;  fog-diamonds  twinkling 
among  the  love-locks  above  Her  pretty  ears, 
and  Her  hands  thrust  deep  in  the  pockets  of 
Her  blue  coat. 

And  She,  the  Blue-Eyed  Lady,  gathered 
up  an  armful  of  his  broken  resolutions  that 
night,  and  placed  them  tenderly  in  the  Treas- 
ure-box of  Her  loving  heart. 

Ring  Nine. 

Through  pensive,  peaceful  rings  in 
"Hades" -Sandy  saw  all  this  that  follows;  the 
events  of  the  day  just  past,  the  most  marvel- 
ous he  had  ever  known. 


IMPULSES  255 

He  caught  the  sound  of  water  bubbling 
over  rocks,  and  tinkling  its  way  through  ferns 
and  tangled  vines;  mingled  with  that  other 
sound — the  sweetest  music  in  all  the  world  to 
Sandy's  ears — the  voice  of  the  Blue-Eyed 
Lady.  Young  fir-trees  rose  spire-like  about  the 
Two,  and  a  peaceful,  cathedral  humor  pos- 
sessed them.  Sandy  twisted  a  great,  soft  leaf 
into  a  chalice,  and  dipped  water  from  the  pool 
for  his  Lady.  Then  they  sat  serene,  and  rest- 
ed, for  they  had  tramped  far,  and  the  day  was 
warm. 

"Listen !"  She  said  softly*  "The  voices  in 
the  stream  I" 

"Yes ;  our  choir  is  singing." 

"I  hope  the  sermon  won't  be  long!"  She 
sighed. 

"Let's  not  have  any,"  he  suggested.  "In 
our  world  we  can  do  as  we  like." 

This  term  pleased  Her  fancy,  and  She 
played  with  it.  "Our  World!"  she  cried. 
"We'll  make  one  all  our  own !" 

"Where  you  are  Queen — and  I?" 

This  was  delightful.  She  saw  Herself  a 
stern,  autocratic  Queen ! 

"And  you — poor  you — my  minion !" 

"A  minion  sometimes  turns!"  he  warned 
Her. 

The  silences  grew  longer  between  them, 


256  IMPULSES 

while  the  cathedral  music  swelled  and  fell 
away.  The  tips  of  the  fir-spires  caught  the 
last  rays  of  the  sun  before  he  dipped  below  the 
ridge.  The  beautiful  day  was  almost  done. 
Sandy  looked  at  the  little  Comrade  sitting 
there,  and  knew  that  all  Life,  past  and  future, 
held  no  better  thing  than  what  She  chose  to 
give  him.  Directly  out  of  the  pages  of  Her 
own  written  story  She  had  stepped  into  his 
life,  and  made  Her  own  place  there  for  weal 
or  woe. 

And  then,  because  the  time  had  come 
which  all  the  years  in  both  their  lives  had  led 
to,  Sandy  silently  laid  the  love  of  his  great, 
loyal  heart  at  the  Blue-Eyed  Lady's  feet,  for 
the  wasted  years  which  had  been,  and  for  all 
those  to  come,  bring  what  they  would.  And 
She,  as  silently,  accepted  this  offering,  know- 
ing well  its  value ;  and  in  exchange  gave  him 
the  one  true  love  of  Her  life. 

There  was  no  speech  save  that  of  the 
voices  in  the  stream ;  no  sound  save  the  stir- 
ring of  the  fir-branches ;  no  visible  demonstra- 
tion of  this  tremendous  event  save  the  touch 
of  Sandy's  lips  on  the  Blue-Eyed  Lady's  hand. 

The  last  sun-rays  left  the  firs,  and  in  the 
evening  shadows  the  air  grew  chill.  The  won- 
derful day  ended,  as  all  days  must  end;  but 
when  night  came  a  marvelous,  wireless  mes- 


IMPULSES  257 

sage  system  was  established  between  "Hades" 
and  the  abode  of  the  Blue-Eyed  Lady. 

The  inhabitants  of  the  new  world  formed 
that  day  knew  that  neither  Time,  Distance, 
nor  any  other  mundane  term  could  ever  more 
disturb  the  unity  of  their  two  souls.  For  the 
old  and  new  had  met,  and  purposed  to  spend 
Eternity  together. 

And  soon 

Many  an  evening  in  pleasant  weather 
Sandy  saunters  up  the  hill,  and  meditatively 
surveys  the  world  from  the  deserted  little 
court  with  its  bit  of  broken  coping.  Turn 
whichever  side  he  may  there  is  always  some- 
thing to  remind  him  of  the  Blue-Eyed-Lady. 
Only  a  few  yards  from  where  he  stands,  She 
has  told  him,  She  skipped  rope,  and  played 
many  other  childish  games,  in  the  long  ago 
when  he  did  not  know  he  knew  Her. 

Far  to  the  west  long  rays  gleam  in  mid- 
channel  from  the  lighthouse.  Round  the 
treacherous  reef  the  currents  ebb  and  flow.  It 
was  there  one  day  they  saw,  from  the  nearby 
cliffs  ashore,  a  tiny  rowboat  landed,  guided  by 
one  who  knew  the  dangers. 

"What  fun,"  the  Blue-Eyed-Lady 
thought;  "to  live  out  there  away  from  all  the 
world!" 


258  IMPULSES 

"Yes— with  Your  thought  Sandy. 

Across  the  city  to  the  south  Sutro  Forest 
Hill  looms  dark;  against  it  the  cross  of  Lone 
Mountain  silhouettes  itself.  They  have  some- 
times climbed  those  heights  too,  in  joyful  com- 
radeship in  an  all-too-short  day. 

Up  and  down  the  bay  lights  gleam  and 
change.  Gliding  ferry-boats  slip  behind  Yer- 
ba  Buena  and  out  again.  To  the  north  Alca- 
traz  rides  the  water  like  a  battle-ship,  train- 
ing her  guns  out  to  sea,  on  the  look-out  for  the 
ever-expected  enemy.  Swinging  round  and 
round,  the  long  finger  of  light  from  her  watch- 
tower  points  out  the  dark  places.  Faithfully 
it  sweeps  a  wide  circle.  Sandy's  gaze  lingers 
longest  over  there  in  the  east,  where,  he  likes 
to  fancy,  it  touches  most  carefully  and  lov- 
ingly. The  stars  shine  there  more  tenderly 
too,  he  thinks.  On  the  opposite  shore,  and 
running  far  back  into  the  hills,  a  myriad 
lights  twinkle.  Where  Sandy  gazes  oftenest 
they  lie  low;  it  is  there  his  Blue-Eyed-Lady 
dwells.  He  leans  against  the  parapet;  a  hush 
is  over  all  the  world.  His  pipe  is  out,  cold; 
but  he  does  not  heed  it.  Smoke-rings  do  not 
hold  the  real  things,  after  all.  The  Real  he 
holds  deep  down  in  his  heart — something  he 
would  not  exchange  for  all  other  possessions 
in  the  past  or  future.  He  will  hold  this,  he 


IMPULSES  259 

knows,  for  all  Time,  whether  that  means  only 
of  earthly  ken,  or  for  Eternity.  She,  the  Lady 
of  his  dreams  is  no  dream.  She  is  living  and 
breathing  in  every  phase  of  his  existence. 

Although  their  love  may  never  be  ex- 
pressed in  all  the  ways  common  to  ordinary 
lovers,  owing  to  circumstances  which  bind  Her 
to  a  life  outside  their  own  dear  World,  their 
unfettered  spirits  are  free  to  soar  above  this 
in  a  communion  greater  and  more  satisfying 
than  anything  the  Two  have  ever  yet  experi- 
enced. Sandy's  restless,  rebellious  soul  has 
found  peace  in  the  haven  of  Her  heart,  an- 
chored there  by  the  golden  chain  of  an  eternal 
love. 

It  grows  late;  the  chill  of  dawn  seems 
near.  Once  more  the  long  light  sweeps  round. 
From  Sandy's  soul  he  breathes  a  benediction. 

"God  bless  my  little  Blue-Eyed-Lady!" 


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THIS  BOOK  ON  THE  DATE  DUE.  THE  PENALTY 
WILL  INCREASE  TO  SO  CENTS  ON  THE  FOURTH 
DAY  AND  TO  $I.OO  ON  THE  SEVENTH  DAY 
OVERDUE. 


-     4  tftir 

OCT  U  **f 

9    1936 

j-i/vt-      <"">      4tflOC 

OCT   9  1936 

LD  21-100m-8,'34 

YU  46146 


X 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 


